Life Goes on Within You and Without You
by PeaceLoveBeatles18
Summary: The memories of Sam's job at Apple Corp., falling in love, falling out of love, the car crash that nearly ended her life, falling in love again, and falling in love every day all over again after that make her both smile and cry. Little things happened between everything on the list she makes in her mind, but these are what she considers the important ones. The life changers.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This idea came to me this weekend while watching a movie called _The Other Side of the Mountain. _It's got a bit of a lengthy description, so look it up if you want to know what it's about.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or Apple Corp. **

**Prologue:**

Sam looks wistfully out the window at the cotton candy pink and blue sky of morning. "I used to love going for walks at this hour," she sighs, reminiscing about the long, meandering walks to nowhere. Her husband comes up behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders. Their comforting warmness envelopes her as well as a hug would.

"We still can, y'know," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "The kids won't be up for a couple of hours yet." He too is staring out the window, watching the world slowly wake from a peaceful slumbering darkness into the brightness of day.

She turns her head to smile at him. "Why, Mr. Starkey, is this a, a _date_?" she asks, fluttering her eyelashes madly like the teenage flirts that never gave her husband a moment of peace in his earlier years.

A chuckle rumbles up from his chest. "Yes, Mrs. Starkey, I believe it is," He massages her shoulders gently.

"Well, let's go then," Sam says, a grin on her face. "Forward, roll!" Richard laughs out loud this time and grasps the handles of her wheelchair in preparation for movement.

As soon as the door opens, a gentle breeze caresses their exposed skin, cool and refreshing. They move in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the beauty of the early hour.

It's times like these that Sam feels memories start to filter into her brain. Why, she doesn't know. Maybe it's the peaceful stillness or the feeling of love in her heart for the man she loves. Either way, memories of her job at Apple Corp., falling in love, falling out of love, the car crash that nearly ended her life, falling in love again, and falling in love every day all over again after that. Little things happened between everything on the list she makes in her mind, but these are what she considers the important ones. The life changers.

Sam's accident took a lot of things away from her, the ability to use her arms and legs is just one of them. But it also gave her many things. Learning that life is the most precious thing in the world, that each breath, such a seemingly simple movement of taking in air and letting it out, is a gift that should never ever be wasted is a significant one.

"What are you thinking about?" Richard asks, bending over to kiss her cheek.

"How lucky I am," she says, turning her head to look at her wonderful husband, the one who helped her learn how to live again. He grins, stops the wheelchair, and picks her up bridal style.

"Rich!" she shouts with surprise, giggling at the goofy face he makes at her.

"I was thinking the same thing," he whispers, adjusting her arms so they go around his neck and kissing her passionately.

Life throws a lot of twists and turns at you, some will knock you down. Courage is having the sense to fall every once and awhile. But courage is also having the strength to get back up again and keep going.

No one ever really knows that until they get knocked down flat. And some people never know. They just stay down. Sam thanks God every day that she had someone to show her how.


	2. Chapter 1 Coffee and Scones

**A/N: Hello! This is the second chapter of Life Goes on Within You and Without You! I think I'm going to change the title, but I haven't got any good ideas. Help?**

**This is un-beta-d (I didn't really know how to make that word work) my beta is super busy and I don't want to burden her.**

**So, I'm just going to fill you in onThe Other Side of the Mountain. It's based on a true story that happened in the 50's. A girl was a champion skier and had an accident that paralyzed her from the shoulders down. She fell in love with another skier, but he was killed in a plane accident. The movie is a real tear jerker, but a worthwhile watch, especially if you like Beau Bridges. The sequel? Meh.**

Four tired men sat around a table with their producers. The stiff, uncomfortable chairs served as an added reminder to them that they didn't want to be there.

"Oh for God's sake, Paul, we've done and redone the bloody guitar solo over and over. It's fine," said a man with shaggy auburn hair and squinty, brown eyes.

"Fine is not good enough!" Paul insisted, tapping the table for emphasis, his dark brown hair spilling into his hazel eyes. "We're the Beatles, John. They expect more than this from us."

A man with a mustache and long-ish brown hair stood up. Resentment filled his usually warm, brown eyes. "You know what, Paul? Since you're so bloody determined that this guitar solo be just the way you want it, do it yourself. I don't give a fuck." He strode out the door.

"George—" called a man with blue, hound dog eyes, a small mustache, and medium length brown hair. Realizing it was useless, he sighed and rubbed his temples. A headache was creeping into his brain. He needed coffee, he decided.

"Anyone else want coffee?" he asked, reaching for the intercom button.

"Ta, Ringo," John nodded gratefully, as did Paul. Ringo pressed the button and requested three mugs of coffee.

Soon, their salvation arrived in the form of a young brunette woman. "You're an angel, love, an absolute angel," Ringo exclaimed with feeling, taking the tray from her hands. A tiny smile tugged up the corner of her mouth.

"You're welcome," she said quietly, slate gray eyes trained on the ground. "Call if you need anything else." She quickly left the room, heels creating tiny clicking noises that followed her down the hallway like a noisy shadow.

Ringo watched her go, his eyes lingering in the hallway longer than John deemed was necessary.

"Don't blame you for staring, Rings," he joked. "She's a looker, ain't she?"

Ringo was mortified. "Hey! I've got a wife and a son, thank you very much!" John merely cackled, wiping his glasses on his sleeve as if to say, _whatever you say..._

The phone buzzed and John pounced on it. "Hello?" he answered. As soon as the other person spoke, Ringo knew exactly who it was because John relaxed exponentially and a smile spread across his features.

"Hi, Mother," said John, "Yes, I'm fine, how are you? Oh, good. I'll be home soon, okay? I love you too, Mother." The phone went back on the hook with a sharp click.

John pulled his coat on. "I'll see you fellas later. Maybe we'll actually get something done next time, yes?" The door was shut before anyone could respond.

"I think I'll go into the studio for a bit," Paul said, clearly uncomfortable. "I'll see you later, Ringo." And Ringo was left all alone in the suddenly chilly room.

_This band is falling to bits_, Ringo thought, pulling his coat on and walking out of the unfriendly room. When he got out to the main lobby the coffee girl was at the counter, arranging the display of green apples. She heard his footsteps and looked up. Blue eyes met gray eyes and a wave of goosebumps prickled Ringo's arms. Why, he didn't know.

A slight crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Mr. Starr, are you okay?" she asked.

Now it was Ringo's turn to frown. He walked over to the counter. "Why do you ask?" he inquired, puzzled. How could she possibly know that his brain was currently attempting to tie itself in knots?

"Because you have this look on your face like you either want to hit something or cry. From experience, people usually do the first one," she said, a tiny smile on her lips. "So I'd rather you talk about it than clip me in the jaw."

Ringo sighed, ruffling the back of his hair. "It's a long story," he muttered with a forced chuckle.

"I've got a long afternoon to fill," she replied. "We can go get coffee or something, not here of course." Ringo thought about it. Mo and Zak were visiting Mo's sister and he wasn't really in the mood to be left alone with thoughts. Something niggled at the back of his mind that it might be a bad idea, but he shoved it away.

"Sure, that sounds nice," he agreed. She grinned, taking her apron off and hanging it on a rack. "What's your name?" Ringo asked.

"Samantha," she responded, tugging her coat on over her green blouse and tan slacks. "Samantha McMillan. And yours?" she joked.

"Ringo Starr," he said in a deep, formal voice, bringing Samantha's hand delicately to his lips. "A pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine, good sir," she said in a high, trilling voice, tipping an invisible hat on her head.

They made it as far as the door before they noticed a crowd of determined-looking females. "Oh no," Ringo moaned. "The Apple Scruffs." Samantha sighed, remembering the bubbly girls that really liked to harass females working at Apple Corp. Then she tapped her chin pensively.

"There's a back door to the kitchen," she offered. Ringo contemplated it. "We'll have to go around the front eventually, but it might give us a big enough head start."

"You are a cunning young lady," Ringo grinned. "That's perfect! These fans aren't really like the Beatlemania ones, they don't really go beyond the perimeters of the building, thus the name."

"C'mon, then!" Samantha led the way to the door and they cautiously crept out with Ringo tugging a hat low over his eyes. Miraculously, they made it all the way to the coffee shop without fan detection.

"I've never been here before," said Ringo, looking around at the cosy little shop. There were tiny, two person booths lining the walls, little wooden tables in the center of the room, and a counter with spinning bar stools. The color theme was muted yet warm, and a faint smell of fresh pastries completed the homey feeling. He didn't know it at the time, but this would quickly become his favorite place to be whenever life got difficult.

They sat down at a booth together and Ringo took his hat off. A waitress soon hovered at the end of the table. "What a lovely young couple," she said. The lady was petite with neatly kept gray hair and an immaculate uniform. "What would you two like today?"

Samantha blushed all the way down to her collar. "We're not a couple," she said. "Just acquaintances. Could we get two cups of coffee and two blueberry scones, please?" The woman looked as though she didn't believe her one bit, but complied with the order.

They passed the time with idle chatter until their food arrived. "Here you are, dears," she said happily. "Enjoy."

"Ta," Ringo thanked her, pulling his food in front of him. "Are these scones good?" he asked hesitantly. Scones, at least in his experience with them, could be a hit or miss type of thing.

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed. "These are the best scones in London, if not all of England!" Ringo chuckled at the passionate outburst.

"Alright, I guess I'll have to take your word for it, eh?" He picked up the scone delicately and bit into the corner. Immediately, his mouth was filled with warm, crumbly, buttery pastry and sweet blueberries.

Samantha giggled at his expression. "Told you," she laughed. And then, on a more serious note she added, "So, what's got you so down around the mouth today?"

Ringo paused for a moment. "Thinks with the band just haven't been going smoothly. There's a lot of hostility going around and we can't seem to get anything done for the life of us."

Samantha nodded. "I've sort of been noticing that," she said. "Whenever I walk past the studios or conference rooms, I hear raised voices more often than not. What I don't understand, though, is why?" she asked. "You lot seemed to get along so well until recently."

Ringo took a sip of his coffee before answering. "I dunno, I think it's the fact that we really haven't got a manager anymore. Brian Epstein passed away a few months ago and now we're running around like a chicken with it's bloody head cut off," a dry chuckle punctured the end of the statement.

"I'd heard something about that," said Samantha, taking a bite of her scone. "But surely you all know how to collaborate?"

Ringo laughed, shaking his head. "You'd think we would, but apparently we don't. No one knows who's in charge, which can make for some rather awkward power disputes," he said, finishing his coffee. The whole affair made Ringo check the mirror at any given opportunity for gray hairs.

"So, it was George that nearly ran me down in the hallway," Samantha realized. "What upset him?"

"Paul was picking his guitar solo to bits," Ringo answered.

Samantha made a face. "Well, what was wrong with it? All of his guitar solos are gear!"

Ringo was stunned. _Gear?_ "You just said—"

Samantha began to laugh heartily. "Gear? I blame my three years in Liverpool for that."

"You lived in Liverpool?" Ringo couldn't believe it.

Samantha nodded. "From '64 to a few months ago," she said. "Nice place, but a little quiet for my tastes. I was born and raised in the heart of London, so I'm a big city girl."

"Why'd you go there?" asked Ringo.

"It was a _lot _cheaper than London and I flat-shared with my friend," she replied. "We lived in the Dingle neighborhood."

"No kidding?" Ringo asked, a grin touching his lips for the first time that afternoon. "I lived in Dingle! In fact, me mum still does."

"My friend knew just about everyone in Dingle. What's her name?" Samantha asked.

"Elsie Starkey," he said. A smile spread across Samantha's features.

"I know Elsie!" she exclaimed. "She's so nice. You've got a lovely mum, Ringo."

Ringo laughed. "I agree. I suppose you knew me step ladd—um, stepfather?"

Samantha's brow wrinkled. "Step ladder?" she giggled.

Ringo flushed and chuckled. "I called him that when I was little and it just stuck, I guess."

"That's cute!" said Samantha. She looked down at her watch and gasped, "I should've been home fifteen minutes ago!" She dug money out of her purse an put it on the table. "Here, it's on me," she said, dashing out the door. Ringo noticed that she'd been in such a hurry that she'd forgotten her white, tasseled scarf.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam dashed up the stairs to her flat and skidded in the door. "Sorry, Liz!" she called. "I got a bit caught up at work!" A dry chuckle floated in from the kitchen.

"Oh, don't mind me. It's only your best friend, who you haven't seen in months. Liz's curly hair preceded her around the door frame. "No big deal."

"Right, and we _weren't _on the phone just last night," Sam jokingly retorted. "Cheeky Scouser," she teased.

"Posh Londoner," she fired back in reply, leaning heavily on her cane. Liz had gotten polio while Sam was flat-sharing with her and Sam remembered with all too much clarity the nerve-wracking ride to the hospital in the middle of the night, followed by several days of nail-biting uncertainty of whether her friend would live or die. She'd survived, but the illness had severely impeded the use of her left leg and she was forced to use a cane. It didn't seem to slow down the vivacious young woman much, though.

"Oooh, that hurt!" Sam staggered around the room, hands over her heart. "You really know how to strike the deathblow, Liz." Her friend grinned a hundred-watt smile.

"It's easy to hit such an open target," she flicked Sam's nose. "I made tea while I waited," she added, turning to go into the kitchen. "Want some?" That was pretty much Liz-speak for 'gossip time'.

"Sure," said Sam, only then noticing that she'd left her scarf at the cafe. "Ah, damn," she cursed. "I left my scarf at Mary's."

Liz gasped and pretended to be offended. "You went to Mary's... _without_ me? That better have been some hot date, McMillan. I demand gossip in compensation," she said, smirking.

Sam groaned and laughed at the same time. "It was an acquaintances date for a person who needed a blueberry scone, coffee, and someone to talk to."

Liz looked unconvinced. "Was this 'someone' of the male or female gender?" she asked, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Sam hesitated. She knew that Liz would be all over the fact that she'd been out with a man. "...male," she replied slowly.

Liz laughed with delight. "I want details!" she commanded. "Lots of them. What did he look like?"

"Long-ish brown hair, a little mustache, blue eyes, big-ish nose, average build and height," Sam listed off and then began to laugh. "I feel as though I'm a witness in a police station," she complained.

"You wouldn't if you dated more, y'know," Liz told her and then paused in thought. "He sounds like you just described Ringo Starr to me." A blush inched its way up Sam's cheeks.

This fact didn't escape Liz's attention and she said, "Oh, come now, Sam. How is that even possible?"

"Did I forget to tell you I have a job at Apple Corp.?" Sam asked weakly, bracing herself for the explosion that was sure to follow.

And it did. "Yes!" she exclaimed, her eyes nearly dropping out of her head. "When did this happen?"

"Right after I got back here and leased this flat," Sam said. Liz immediately started squealing and Sam was reminded of the only Beatles concert that Liz had managed to drag her off to.

"Oh, this is just too perfect!" she squealed.

"Liz, he has a wife," Sam attempted vainly to bring her buoyant friend back down to Earth. "And kids. At most, we'll be reasonably good friends and even that would be asking a lot."

Liz expelled a dramatic sigh and flopped back against the frail wooden chair, causing Sam to fear for its safety. "Don't ruin my fun, Sam. It's been _ages_ since you've had a proper boyfriend, let alone gone on a date!"

Sam felt her eyes do a complete circle in their sockets. "Liz, _how_ many times do I have to say that I'm perfectly content being single? I've got a good job, a hobby that keeps me occupied, and wonderful friends. What more could I ask for?" she asked. "And don't say love, because I've got that already and don't need a man to make it happen."

Liz visibly deflated. "Okay, fine. You've got me there. But I met this really lovely bloke in Liverpool a few weeks ago and he's—"

Sam flapped her hands at Liz. "Oh, God no. Please, no more blind dates. The last one looked like a yak."

Liz took on an expression of offense. "Oi! That's one of my best mates!"

Sam started to giggle. "Well, it's true! He was so hairy I couldn't tell which side was the front! He'd turn around and I'd carry on speaking to his back!"

Liz couldn't help it; she began to roar with laughter. "You're right, I guess I never thought about it before."

The two women sat at the kitchen table for hours, catching up on what had happened in their lives in the few months that they'd been apart. Liz would be staying with Sam for six months, she was moving into a proper house now that she'd gotten a job and it needed to be completely renovated.

When Liz went to bed, Sam wandered over to the window that overlooked busy, downtown London. She gently tugged a pad of paper and some black and gray pastels out of a drawer. London at night in black and white was one of her favorite things to draw. Drawing was Sam's passion and she'd been doing drawings of the London skylight in an array of different drawing materials. It kept her busy mind occupied and relaxed her.

**A/N: Ta da! Did you like it? I hope so!**

**Review, please? :)**


	3. Chapter 2 Paperwork and Phone Calls

**A/N: Hello everyone! This is chapter 2 of Life Goes on Within You and Without You! Still looking for a better title, HELP. PM me or leave a review, I don't care which.**

**No reviews for the last chapter? :( I thought this was a semi-decent story.**

The next morning, Sam rolled out of bed with a groan, casting a dirty look at her alarm clock for waking her up at such an ungodly hour. She usually didn't go into work until a few hours later, but the Beatles had decided to do an all-day studio run, starting early and running late. She was sure she'd be dead on her feet by the end of the day.

The wood floor was icy cold and Sam shoved her feet into her slippers as soon as possible. The slippers had been a christmas present from her mum when she moved out. They were a deep, forest green with a thick, fuzzy lining. And right then, they felt like heaven.

Sam staggered into the bathroom in a sleepy haze, wincing when the bright, fluorescent light burned mercilessly into her pupils. She took a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the cold light. Splashing a few handfuls of frigid water on her face sent her gasping and spluttering, but allowed her to feel somewhat more alert. Her hair, which fell in semi-curly, chestnut waves to the middle of her back, was feeling kind and had decided not to frizz into a lion's mane this morning. _Thank God for small mercies,_ she thought drily, running a brush through it and pinning one side out of the way so it wouldn't tumble into her face too much during the day.

If there was one thing Sam could truly not stand, it was her uniform. The pants weren't so bad, as they were a pair of mildly fashionable tan slacks, and the blouse wasn't a bad style, but it was the color of the blouse. It was a horrid, pale green color that reminded her far too much of the first flat she had ever leased. It was the cheapest one she could find and by extension, it was also in the worst condition. It was the tangible redefinition of Murphy's law. Anything and everything that could possibly go wrong with it did go wrong. The ceiling leaked, the terrible green paint peeled in every imaginable place in the flat, the floor had either burnt orange carpet or splintery wood, every apparatus in the bathroom and kitchen leaked, the heat didn't work in the winter and conversely the air conditioning failed in the summer, and there were occasionally pests of every kind. Thus her dislike of the shade of green. Nevertheless, she pulled it on, stepped into her little black pumps, and wandered into the kitchen to hunt down a bite of breakfast.

Surprisingly, Liz was already up and about. She was seated at the kitchen table. Her ultra-curly black hair was pulled into a knot at the top of her head and she was wrapped in a deep red dressing gown that Sam had gotten her for christmas one year. "Morning," she said, blinking owlishly at Sam. "Your alarm sent me straight through the ceiling this morning," she informed her friend, looking a tad disgruntled.

"Has to be that loud," said Sam, sitting down and helping herself to a cup of tea and a crumpet. "I'll sleep right through it otherwise."

"Your snoring is pretty obnoxious too, thought it was a train at first," Liz smiled impishly.

"Oi!" Sam exclaimed, nearly choking on her tea. "I don't snore!"

"That was some proper imitation, then," Liz said, grinning and wiggling her eyebrows over the top of her cup. "Nearly took off the roof, you did. Got a few complaint calls." She ducked at the last second to avoid the roll that Sam threw at her. Peeking out from underneath the table she said, "Jesus, I was just kidding!" she gasped through her giggles.

"Remind me again what planet you're from?" Sam chuckled, getting up and wriggling into her coat.

"Same one as you," said Liz. "Planet Crazy!"

"Okay," Sam laughed. "I gotta go, bye Lizzie." She waved, stepping out into early morning London. She lived at 219 Baker Street and it thrilled her to know that one of her favorite book characters had been written to live near there in 1800's London. Sometimes, she tried to imagine what it would have been like to live back then.

The morning was freezing to say the least, but Sam decided to walk. The buses were her emergency go-to, and frankly, she hated cabs. It wasn't the cabbies, just the horrible, stifling smell of either normal or marijuana smoke. It made her nauseous.

She just barely made it in the door on time. Her pencil was in mid-descent to the paper for signing in when her boss came around the corner. He was a warm, friendly individual with a bit of a potbelly, thinning hair, and a big, toothy grin. He was sort of like a second father to Sam.

"Good morning, Sammy," he said, patting her shoulder. "Cutting it a bit fine, yes?"

"Sorry, Joe," she said. "I decided to walk today." He shook his head, laughing at her.

"Daydreaming, eh?" he nudged her side with his elbow. "It's okay, come into the kitchen. We have a load of pastries and coffee to make today!"

She shrugged her coat off, dropping it onto the rack before pulling a hairnet over her curls and tying an apron over her uniform.

"Morning, Sam!" called a few of her coworkers. Sam was well liked by most of her coworkers for the most part. Some got jealous that she was usually the one to bring things to the various people working at Apple Corp. Sam wasn't sure what there was to be jealous about. She never talked directly to them and often got a slight earful if the food or beverage wasn't to their liking. By far, her favorite person at Apple was Chris O'Dell, a secretary. She was always sweet and friendly to Sam.

Sam shoved her third tray of pastries into the oven and sighed, popping her knuckles to loosen them up. Her short reprieve was interrupted by a shout from the front of the kitchen.

"Oi, Sammy! Could you take these breakfast trays to Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall?" Joe called, pointing to them. Normally, the kitchen didn't do much more than the occasional snack, but they were working hard to meet a deadline and didn't have time to go out or order a takeaway.

"Sure, Joe. On my way," Sam replied, picking her way through the gleaming white countertops and burnished pots and pans. She took the trays in her hands, balancing them neatly before leaving the kitchen. Mal's office was close to the kitchen and it took her a matter of seconds to stand outside the oaken door with the plaque reading his name in gold lettering.

"Mr. Evans?" she said through the door, knocking gently.

"Come in!" his muffled reply sounded. She let herself in and set the tray down on the corner of his desk. He appeared to be roughly eyeball deep in paperwork. He looked up wearily from something he was signing. "Thanks, love," he said gratefully. "Been here an hour already and I've hardly made a dent."

"Good luck, sir," said Sam, leaving the room and closing the door gently. Everyone looked just about worn to the bone already and the day had barely begun. Neil's office was next. She tapped her fist against the door and opened it slowly. Almost immediately, the door crashed into a load of boxes, books, and papers, sending them in a wobbly tumble to the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Sam cried, setting the breakfast tray down quickly and bending down to pick up the mess she had created. _Bull in a china shop, what an apt self-description_, she thought in self-irritation.

Mr. Aspinall waved her down. "S'okay," he said, chuckling and rubbing the back of his head in a tired way. "Everything's easier to get at that way. Thanks for the breakfast." He moved to pick up the tray and suddenly stopped. "Oh bugger, I've forgotten to give the boys this," he said, clapping a hand to his forehead and picking up a stack of paper that looked identical to the numerous other ones in the room. "Could I trouble you to give this to them for me?" Sam took the papers and nodded. The studio was on her way back anyway. "Ta."

"You're welcome, sir," Sam said, turning to leave. "Good luck with everything." Mr. Aspinall gave her a comical little salute and Sam headed toward the studio.

She was immediately met by a ragged-looking Paul McCartney. "Morning, miss," he said, his eyes falling on the page in her hands. "Say, those aren't from Neil Aspinall, are they?" he inquired.

"Yeah," she nodded, handing them over. "I just brought him his breakfast and he asked me to bring this over to you."

"Thanks a bunch," he said. "This movie's gotta be done by three days before christmas and some of the kinks are still getting worked out."

"Hope all goes well," Sam said, waving and turning to leave. A few paces down the hallway, she bumped into someone familiar, a very sleepy-looking Ringo Starr. He yawned hugely, rumpling up the back of his hair.

"Morning, Samantha," he greeted her, shrugging out of his coat.

"Good morning," she said, sticking her hand out for a handshake. He took her hand, but a few seconds later seemed to recall something.

"I've still got your scarf!" he exclaimed, digging around in the pockets of his coat an pulling out a piece of white, tasseled fabric.

Sam gasped and took it. "Oh my gosh, thank you!" she grinned, tucking it into the pocket of her apron. "This is my favorite scarf, you are officially my savior."

Ringo shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled goofily. "Aw gawrsh, t'weren't nothin', marm," he drawled, bobbing around like an actor in a slapstick comedy.

She giggled. "I've got to get back to work, have a nice day, yeah?"

"Alright, you too love!" he called after her. Sam smiled to herself as she hurried back to the desk. For the remainder of her shift today, she was on telephone duty and that was never the most pleasant thing in the world. She might not mind it as much today, though.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Ringo dropped his coat onto the hook and wandered into the studio. Not much playing would happen that day, it was mostly just tweaking various aspects of what was to be their third movie.

"Ringo, get your arse in here!" John shouted good-naturedly. "We haven't got all day!"

"Don't get yer knickers in a bunch, Johnny boy, I'm coming," Ringo teased, plunking himself down in a chair. He was amazed at how much more at ease everyone seemed to be.

"Okay, enough joking around," said Paul, coming to sit down with a massive stack of paper in his hand. "We've got to get through all of this today." The words sounded like a death knell, drawing heartfelt groans from everyone in the group.

"I can feel my hand cramping up already," George said, wiggling his fingers in anticipation of the abuse to come.

"Well, let's get cracking," Ringo said, popping his knuckles. For several hours, they plowed through the paperwork needed for their movie, occasionally stopping to call their lawyer who was on holiday at that moment and not readily available. Most of it made sense to Ringo, but at times things slipped in one ear and went flying right back out the other. He wasn't too fussed about it, though. As far as he could tell, it didn't pertain to him.

Around one-thirty, stomachs started to rumble hungrily. "Christ, I'm starved," George said, tipping back in his chair and rubbing his stomach.

"Let's order something," Paul suggested. "Maybe that Indian place down the street? Don't worry Rings, we'll order something mild for you."

"Ta," Ringo said, meandering over to the drum set and mindlessly tapping around.

George, being the most familiar with the place, ordered and they settled in to wait.

Roughly twenty minutes later, a call came from the front desk. "Hello?" Paul answered. "Oh, alright then. Ta." He set the phone down. "Sounds like they're a bit tied up at the front desk at the moment. Who wants to get the food?"

"I'll do it," George volunteered, getting to his feet and stretching.

"Don't go eating it all on the way back!" John lectured his friend, grinning and dodging the smack aimed in his direction.

"Oh sod off, will you? I won't," George said, hand on the door handle. "Or at least, not all of it."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOooOoOo

"Yes ma'am, I understand that, but—" Sam was cut off for the four billionth time in five minutes by the angry young woman on the other end of the phone line. It seemed that someone had sold her a fake set of Beatles autographs.

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but Apple Corp. doesn't sell autographed photographs or anything autographed for that matter. We cannot be held responsible for the false photographs you bought," Sam said calmly, wishing the woman would just understand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George Harrison approaching the desk. The bag of Indian food on the counter that had been making her mouth water fro the past few minutes floated to the forefront of her mind. "Excuse me, could you please hold for a moment?" She set the phone down and picked up the bag to hand it to him.

"Thanks, miss," George said, taking the bag from her. "Good luck with that phone call." He winced in sympathy for her. Sam was touched by his concern.

"It's nothing, really," she assured him. "Just a disgruntled fan." She screwed a fake smile on her face and picked up the phone again. "Sorry about that, ma'am..." In the end, she would be sending her a coupon for a half-priced Beatles album. It had been an exhausting affair and Sam treated herself to a ten minute break in the lounge room.

"Sammy," Joe's voice boomed. She turned to see her boss coming toward her with a bag in his hand. "Someone dropped this off for you," he said, handing it to her and rubbing his eyes with one hand. He was obviously exhausted.

"Thanks," she said, patting his arm. "Wonder who this is from?" She opened the bag to find a turkey sandwich, crisps, and a bottle of orange soda. Immediately, she knew it was from Liz. _She sure knows me_, Sam thought, smiling to herself as she ate her lunch quickly. She knew she had to get back to work soon, because nobody liked being on front desk duty and the person filling in for her was sure to get irritated if she didn't show up exactly ten minutes later. She was going to be there for the rest of the day and knew that the calls would taper off a few hours from now. That was the reason she stocked paper at the desk. Nine times out of ten, the calls were from silly fans that were just desperate to talk to the Beatles. More often than not, they were a bit more than cross with Sam when she told them they couldn't speak to them.

Other times, famous people would call and give Sam the shock of her life. She was by now used to the Beatles popping in and out, but she was still starstruck by other celebrities. The first time Mick Jagger had called, she had nearly had a heart attack. He had sensed it and from what Sam could hear he had nearly died laughing.

"Hello?" Sam answered the phone at about eight that night.

"May I speak to George Harrison, please? This is Eric Clapton." Sam's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Um, sure," she said, attempting mightily not to stammer. "Hold please." She passed the call through and set the phone where it belonged again. She definitely needed to start getting used to things like that.

She turned back to the drawing she had been doing previous to the shocking call. It was a sketch of the Beatles circa 1965, one of her favorite years mostly because of Rubber Soul. In fact, she was attempting to recreate the album cover with her own ornamentations like names of songs blended into the background.

"That's a pretty gear drawing," a voice floated up behind her, procuring a yelp and a jump from Sam. She whirled around to see Ringo leaning on the desk. "We're calling it quits for the night, paperwork's done and we just need to send it to the broadcasting station."

"You scared me," Sam said shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. "Thanks, though. Better day today?" she asked, taking her apron off and putting her coat and scarf on.

"Much," Ringo said happily. "Just a bit long for my liking. How was yours?"

"Long and filled with cranky people on the phone, but not bad," she said, noticing that it had begun to snow outside.

"I gotta get going, have a good night!" Ringo said over his shoulder, starting to walk away. Turning back for just a moment he said, "You're a fab artist, y'know. Maybe you should draw me sometime," he joked.

"Maybe," Sam said, feeling her heart flutter a bit in her chest at the pearly white grin sent in her direction. She passed it off as a side effect of being loopy with exhaustion, but she would find out soon that it most certainly wasn't.

**A/N: Fin! :) Review?**


	4. Ch 3 Busy Days and Party Invitations

**A/N: Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! :) So, I promised this chapter and the next one (which, with any luck at all will be up by tomorrow *crosses fingers*) by Christmas, but I'm only a week late, right? Think of it as a New Year's present. Except that it happens during Christmas. I realized I made a mistake in my timeline, though. This is set in 1967, and I said that John and Yoko married. They didn't get married until later though. Can we forget I said anything about that? I'll go back when I'm not drowning in homework and see if I can fix it up.**

**Anyhoo, enjoy!**

Sam tripped into her flat, wiping the snow out of her eyes and yawning hugely. Midway home the snow had begun falling in earnest, flurrying around and making seeing difficult.

"You look dead," Liz said, getting up from her spot on Sam's couch and leading her friend to sit down. Sam gave the young woman a look that said, _Thank you very much for your kind observation_.

"Been on my feet all day," she mumbled, collapsing on the sofa. "The phone refused to stop ringing."

"Any new developments with Ringo?" Liz grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. Sam rolled her eyes, flapping a tired hand in the air and rolling over on the couch. "Piss off, Liz," she muttered into a pillow. "I didn't even see him today. They were in the studio doing paperwork for their movie." This wasn't entirely true, she _had _talked to him briefly, but she wanted to avoid being given the third degree by Liz. She loved her friend and hanging out with her, but she never, ever seemed to run out of questions, especially if they had anything to do with Sam's nonexistent love life.

"Okay, okay," Liz backed off. "Well, it's late and I'm knackered. Goodnight."

"Night, Lizzie," Sam said, stretching. She'd just close her eyes for a second...

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"Daddy missed you a whole lot, buddy," Ringo whispered, kissing his son's forehead gently. "Were you a good boy for mummy?" He looked up at his wife for the answer to his question.

"He was lovely, they both were," Mo assured him, kissing his forehead gently. "Love, you look dead on your feet, let me help you to bed once I put the baby down."

Ringo managed a tired smile. "Only if you come with me." Mo patted his arm gently and headed off to put their son in his crib.

Once upstairs, he kicked his shoes off with a groan and flopped down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. He heard Mo come into the room carrying his pajamas. She sat down on the bed next to him. "I got your flannel pajamas for you."

He merely rolled over on his side. "I'm tempted to just sleep in me clothes," he mumbled, pressing his face into the all too comfortable mattress.

"I'm gonna go to sleep now, goodnight, Rich," Maureen kissed his cheek briefly and crawled under the covers. By the time Ringo had undressed and put his pajamas on, his wife was fast asleep. He sighed, rolling under the covers next to her and burrowing into his pillow. A few years ago, she would've waited up for him, helping him with his pajamas and giggling, whispering nonsense into his ear and kissing every available square inch of his face. Now, he was lucky if he got a kiss on the lips and an 'I love you'. She was increasingly uninvolved in their relationship and he knew that he had been as well.

It was far too late to be thinking about such things. Ringo allowed himself to be swept away on the tides of sleep.

The next morning, Ringo awoke to the delicious smells of breakfast and an empty bed, meaning that Mo had already gotten up and was cooking this morning. He ruffled a hand through his hair and wandered into their spacious kitchen, where a delicious vegetable omelet was awaiting him.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mo laughed, coming away from the stove to give him a hug from behind and a kiss that Ringo caught with his own lips. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a rock, love," Ringo said, digging into his breakfast. "This is fab," he commented through a bulging mouthful. She giggled, sitting down next to him and wrapping her ankle around his.

"You're welcome, figured you deserved a good breakfast after all that yesterday," she said, running her hand up and down his arm gently. "You remember how Peter Brown was thinking about throwing a costume party a few days before the airing of your new movie?" Ringo nodded around a large mouthful of eggs, encouraging her to go on. "Well, it's decided. It's definitely going to happen. What kind of costume pair should we do? I kind of like the idea of cowboy and Indian outfits. What do you think?"

Ringo swallowed and said, "Oh, I dunno. I'll wear anything, I s'pose." Maureen gave him a disparaging look that clearly bemoaned the apathy of men when it came to clothing.

He was spared from having to respond when Zak came tottering into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and a loud wail signified that Jason was now awake. Mo went to get the latter and Ringo scooped Zak up into his lap.

"Morning, pal, how'd you sleep?" he asked, hugging his still groggy son.

"Mornin', daddy," he mumbled, nuzzling into Ringo's chest. "Fine, I guess. I missed you lots."

"Missed you too, Zakky," Ringo said, ruffling the little boy's hair.

"Can I have some of your brekkist?" Zak asked, reaching for the fork. Ringo laughed at the mispronunciation and helped him get a bite from the plate to his mouth with little trouble.

Mo came into the room with Jason on her hip. "Ritchie, you have to be at the studio in a half hour," she called.

"Oh blimey, that's right," Ringo clapped a hand to his forehead and set Zak in the seat next to him. "Gotta go to work buddy, sorry," he said, dropping a kiss onto his small, tousled head. "Love you big!"

"Luv you too, daddy!" Zak called after him.

Ringo jumped into the nearest sort-of matching outfit, yanking his arms through the sleeves and hopping around the room in an attempt to pull his pants on. Sticking his feet in his shoes, he ran a perfunctory comb through his hair and scrubbed a toothbrush around his mouth quickly.

Dashing downstairs, Ringo snatched his coat with two fingers, kissed and hugged Mo, and kissed Jason's head.

"Love you all, bye!" he shouted, jumping into the car waiting for him and expelling a windy sigh as he slumped into the backseat. Invariably, he found himself thinking about the issues he and Mo still had to talk about. Dropping his head into his hands, he massaged his temples. Today was going to be a long day. He could tell.

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"Owwww," Sam groaned, rolling off the couch and rubbing her neck vigorously. She had meant to rest for a moment, but ended up sleeping all night. "Not my best moment," she muttered, getting to her feet and looking at the crumpled state of her uniform with despair.

"Good morning, sunshine," Liz said with a grin, leaning on her cane as she walked over to Sam. "Sleep well?" Her leg must be hurting her today. Most of the time, she hardly needed it.

"Until I woke up, yes," she said, stretching and wincing as a wave of cracks and pops went up her spine. "I'm gonna go iron my uniform, could you get me a cup of tea and a crumpet?"

"Only this once," Liz said, heading for the kitchen. "I'm a lot of things, but one thing I'm not is your housekeeper."

"Really, so that's not what I hired you for?" she quipped, going over to the ironing board. Slipping into her robe, she ran an iron quickly over her uniform and put it back on, savoring the warm cloth for a few moments.

Liz had a steaming cup of tea and a buttered crumpet waiting for her on the table when she finally emerged from the bedroom. "You do good work, Watson. I'm impressed."

Liz grinned, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Do I ever do anything else?" she asked. "Don't you dare answer that question, Samantha."

"Oh, fine," Sam said, taking a gulp of her hot tea and wriggling quickly into her coat. "Ruin my fun, why don't you?" She smirked, waving goodbye. "Bye, Liz. I'll call you on the extremely off-chance that I get a moment of peace."

Sam hurried to work, keeping her head down and focusing on not being late. She was going so quickly that she didn't see someone else entering the building at the same time as her. Colliding with the person, Sam fell against the wall, bringing the unknown man down with her in a tangled heap.

"Watch where you're—" they both said at the same time, until they recognized each other. Sam was staring into the surprised blue eyes of Ringo Starr, who was at an uncomfortably close distance to her at that moment. Their noses were centimeters from each other.

Ringo made a clumsy attempt to stand up and eventually ended up rolling over to the side and sitting next to her against the wall. "Sorry about that, Miss Samantha, my head is in other places this morning," he said, sheepishly smoothing the front of his hair down. Getting to his feet, he offered her his hand, which she took gratefully. "How are you today, other than the fact that I've just heartlessly knocked you to the ground?"

Sam laughed, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. "Oh, I'm fine today. Don't worry about it, it takes more than a bump to get me down. How are you today?"

"Well, other than a bit distracted, I'm alright." He glanced at his watch and shook his head sadly. "Looks like I've got to be in the studio five minutes ago. See you later perhaps, Miss Samantha?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Sam replied, making her way to her check-in station. "Oh, and Ringo?" she called at the last minute. He turned to look at her. She had no idea why she said what she said next, but it came tumbling out of her mouth anyway. "Call me Sam, won't you?"

If Sam thought she was going to have any time at all that day to call Liz and chat, she was horribly mistaken. All day, she was either baking, carrying trays of coffee or food everywhere in the building or answering the phone, which never seemed to stop ringing. Most of the time, it was an association of the Beatles or an up and coming artist that wanted to be passed through to the office that would get them a bundle of money to fund their latest project which was sure to be "the next big thing". If you asked Sam, she thought most of them were harebrained at most. But no one asked Sam. It was her job to answer the phone, pass the important calls on, and provide friendly customer service to the less pressing or fan-related ones. Opinion-giving wasn't in her job description.

Lunch was fleeting at best, a leftover sandwich and a gulp of water from a bubbler and she was back in front of the insistent phone, scribbling down notes until her hand cramped up and trying vainly to remain calm. At around six, she finished a long, unfriendly call from yet another disgruntled fan and slouched against the desk with her hands over her eyes. Today was even worse than the long day yesterday.

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Ringo's day in the studio was uneventful, but thankfully laid-back and calm. No one yelled, no one disagreed with anyone, it was basically a long, relaxed jam session.

"Ringo, toss a pen over here, will you?" Paul called, lounging in his seat and plucking absentmindedly at the strings of his bass. "Mine's run dry."

Ringo picked up a writing implement and threw it lazily over to the bassist, who thanked him. George, whose lanky form was far too big for his chair, sat up a little straighter and it was obvious that he had something on his mind. "You all remember that thing we went to in Wales with the Maharishi, right?"

"Yeah," John said, taking his granny glasses off and meticulously cleaning them.

"I was thinking that we could possibly go to India for awhile in the future," George said. "The Maharishi has a school for transcendental meditation there and I was thinking we could try it?"

John looked intrigued. "Maybe you've got something there, Geo. We've all been a little tightly wound lately and could use a little relaxation." He appeared to turn pensive. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get some answers while we're there, too."

George smiled approvingly. That was the kind of reaction he'd been looking for. "We probably will. Well, fellas, we've gotten an astonishingly little amount done today. Shall we call it a day?"

Paul finished scribbling something down in his ever-present notebook, shoved it into his coat pocket, and stood up. "Sounds good to me. Oh, before I forget again, Peter Brown decided that we're going to have that release party on Christmas eve. It's gonna be like a masquerade ball of sorts, with costumes and everything. A bunch of singers and such are coming."

"Yeah, Pattie's been trying to get me to dress up as a pirate," George said, running a hand through his hair slowly.

"I gotta get going, fellas," Ringo shrugged his coat on and turned his collar up. "I'll see you all on Monday, I think we all need a bit of a vacation after getting that album and movie together."

"Bye Rings, say hello to Maureen for us, okay?" said John. Ringo nodded and headed for the front door. He was almost there when something changed his mind about leaving. Sam was slumped against the side of the desk with her palms against her closed eyes. She looked absolutely run down.

He wandered quietly over to her and touched her shoulder. "Love, are you okay?"

Sam looked up slowly, blinking blearily. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"No offense meant, but you look terrible," Ringo said, stroking a few stray curls out of her face.

That got a dry chuckle out of her. "Thanks, Ringo," she said.

"I've got a bit of time before I need to be home. Can I treat you to a coffee and a scone or something?" he asked, suddenly a bit shy and hesitant for some reason.

"Sure," she said, a little blush coloring her cheeks and making her look even prettier than usual. "I guess that the tables have turned."

"My driver is out back, it'll be a bit faster and warmer than walking again." She smiled thankfully and pulled her coat around her shoulders, following Ringo into the car. The driver raised a silent eyebrow, but said nothing about the young woman getting into the car with his boss.

"Never been in a famous person's car before," she said, looking around at the plush seats and the various other additions with wide, wondering eyes.

Ringo chuckled. "It's not so different from a non-famous person's car, it's just who's been in it that's different." He could see that Zak had left a few of his toys in there and he'd accidentally left a few of Jason's things in there as well. "'Scuse the mess won't ya, little kids make cleanliness a near impossibility."

"I would bet," Sam giggled. "But I wouldn't know. Haven't got any kids, y'know."

"Well, I wouldn't think so," Ringo said with a smile. "With you not being married and all." A thought struck him. "But surely you've got a boyfriend?"

Sam shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Nope. I'm as single as single can be." Ringo was shocked. Surely a girl as pretty and sweet as her would have someone special in her life.

"Really? That surprises me! You don't have blokes falling at your feet all the time, then?" he asked.

"You're just as bad as my friend, Liz Watson," Sam flicked Ringo's arm. "She's simply convinced that I need a bloke in my life to 'complete' me or something."

"You seem pretty complete as is," Ringo remarked as they got out of the car and made their way into the café together. Sam suddenly became quite silent and Ringo worried he'd said the wrong thing.

Thankfully, there was a different waitress today and they got their coffee and blueberry scones ordered with little trouble. Ringo allowed silence to softly blanket the table before he spoke again. "What had you so overwhelmed today?"

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Sam stopped, coffee cup halfway to her mouth. "Just some irate fans and so-called up and coming artists that wanted big chunks of money to fund their endeavors," she said, huffing out a breathy sigh. "People can be so insistent sometimes."

Ringo nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of his scone. "I get that, love. Insistent is a word that might be a bit too soft to describe some of the fans we encountered in our touring years. I was afraid for me life sometimes!" he exclaimed.

"Really?" Sam asked, intrigued.

"Oh, definitely. They'd just mob us. Sometimes they'd run the policemen that were holding them back straight over and come charging right at us."

"You never got hurt though, did you?" Ringo laughed, shaking his head no.

"We got a little jerked around, but as a rule no one ever got really hurt. Someone snipped a lock of me hair off once, though. Just walked straight up to me with a pair of scissors and cut a bit of it off!" he chuckled, ruffling the back of his hair for emphasis.

"That's crazy!" Sam said, giggling. "I mean, I like you fellas and all, but I really don't want a piece of your hair."

"Well, that's a relief," Ringo grinned. "Here I was, worrying that you had a shears in your purse, waiting for the opportunity to steal all of me precious hair."

Sam almost choked on her coffee laughing. She set down her cup and covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her guffaws. "Are you trying to do me in, Mr. Starr?"

Ringo winked at her, taking a delicate bite of his scone. "Thought never crossed my mind, Miss McMillan."

For a half hour, they traded stories of moments of hilarity or mild insanity they participated in or watched occur. "...And that was how I nearly got thrown out of a special tour in Buckingham Palace. I told my friend that we weren't supposed to touch the statues, but he did and he almost knocked one of the nicest, oldest ones over. The tour guide was not pleased to say the least," Sam finished with a laugh. Her childhood friend, Ben Carlton, had been a bit of troublemaker and the statues looked perfect for touching to him, mostly because they had large signs stating that they must not be touched on them.

Ringo began to chuckle, standing up and putting his coat on. "Well, I've had a lovely time, but I think we'd both best be getting along. I'll give you a ride if you'd like."

Sam shook her head vehemently. "No, no," she said. "You don't need to go out of your way like that." She got up and put her scarf back on. "I can walk, it's not that far."

Now it was Ringo's turn to shake his head. "It's too cold, you'll freeze. It's not that much trouble, really."

"You know, I'm resisting in part because my friend Liz will never let me hear the end of it. Ever," Sam said with a smile.

"She won't know it's me, don't worry," Ringo replied. "I'm far too stealthy for her to tell it's me." To prove this point, he tiptoed exaggeratedly out of the café. Sam could only laugh and follow him into the car. He had won, this time anyway.

"You don't really act famous, you know," Sam remarked when they got into the car.

He looked at her questioningly. "How are famous people supposed to act?"

Sam blushed bright red. "Um, I dunno, really. More stuck-up? ... You just seem so down-to-earth all the time like being so famous doesn't really bother you."

He smiled. "A lot of people say that, but I feel as though I've changed quite a lot. But you're right; being famous doesn't bother me all that much," he said, fidgeting with the corner of his jacket as though there was a thought on the tip of his tongue. "Say, I was wondering if you'd like to come to our little party that we're having for the movie we're releasing? Not with me, necessarily, but would you like to come and bring the friend you were talking about? Think of it as a reward for all the tough work you've been doing."

Sam began to giggle. "Well, first of all, I don't think you'd want to see Liz within eyeshot of you lot. But, I'm not sure. I mean, it's a party for various celebrities, and I'm far from a celebrity," she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

"Nonsense, you're practically a celebrity in the office. People think you're the greatest," he said. "It's on Christmas eve in the ballroom at the hotel two doors down from Apple. It's a costume party."

Sam rolled her eyes. "The greatest? Oh, hardly. But you've given me no alternative other than to say yes. I'm not exactly sure I want to go, but I'm sure Liz will be ecstatic." The car pulled up and stopped in front of Sam's flat. She made to get out, but Ringo dashed around the back of the car and opened the door for her.

"My lady," he joked, grinning goofily. She slapped his arm.

"Thanks for the ride, Ringo," she said. "See you later."

"No problem," he said. Right as she was at the door, he called out, "Sam? Call me Rich or Ritchie, won't you?"

As soon as she got into the flat, she was assailed by a flailing Liz. "Was that Ringo Starr giving you a ride home?!"

Sam groaned, flopping down on the couch and kicking her shoes off. "He lied! He said he was far too sneaky for you to see him!" she laughed, fending off the pillow thrown at her head.

"No one is ever too sneaky to get past me, speaking of which, you've got news. Spill," she demanded, sitting down next to Sam and propping her chin up on her hands.

"I swear, you've got X-ray eyes," Sam sighed. "Well, Ringo offered that we come to a party they're throwing for their new movie—" her sentence was cut off by a barrage of excited questions.

"Did you say we? When is it? Who will be there? Is there a theme?" Liz asked. "Oh, sorry, I'm babbling, aren't I?" Sam nodded slowly. "This is just so exciting!"

"I know," Sam said, giving into the excitement for the first time. "It's going to be interesting, that's for sure. It's on Christmas eve and it's a costume party."

They spent the next few hours planning costumes and poring through magazines for inspiration. Sam ended up drawing what each of them were going to wear and they made plans to go shopping for the things they didn't own already.

**A/N: Ta-da! Next chappie should be expected by tomorrow, I think. I hope. Anyway, expect a little more, shall we say, _complexity_ in Sam and Ringo's relationship.**


	5. Chapter 4 Of Dances and First Kisses

**A/N: Ohmigosh, I am so sorry I didn't post this sooner. First, I got writer's block and THEN Same Old Lang Syne got taken down and my account got frozen. :P I'll be reuploading it without the lyrics sometime later. Grrrr.**

The days flew by and soon it was the day of the costume party. Sam had gotten all the details from Ringo and he'd gotten her onto the guest list in return. The party started at six and it ended around midnight or one, depending entirely upon the crowd's behavior. She kept a calm demeanor for the most part, but Sam was beyond excited to go to this party. There would be famous singers and artists, and Ringo. Over the course of the past few days, Sam had begun to feel a bit odd whenever she saw the blue-eyed drummer. Sort of like she'd missed a step on a flight of stairs. It couldn't be her being star struck, she'd managed to somewhat get over that. It couldn't be... No. Absolutely not. Out of the question.

She and Liz had decided to do gowns like the ones from late 1800's, early 1900's Paris. After some extensive research, some of it coming from Liz's worn copy of Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, they decided to model their outfits after a classic masquerade ball costume. That meant, of course, that they had to wear thin, delicate white masks that covered their upper faces.

Sam's gown was a light, sheer, silvery color. The neckline was low and scooped with tiny pearls lining it like little droplets of snow. The sleeves were long and fitted with a sort of v-shape at the end, but still comfortable. Thankfully, they'd been able to alter the puffiness out of the shoulders. It itched like mad. The bodice of the dress was form-fitting, yet not constricting, and lined on the seams with little rhinestones. The dress had a drop-waist that was hemmed with the same sort of pearls as on the neckline. The skirt was Sam's favorite part about the dress. It was full and gathered and swept across the floor gracefully. Patterns of rhinestones flowed across it and she didn't say it out loud, but it made her feel like a princess. By contrast, her jewelry was incredibly simple. It was just a small chain necklace with aquamarine, her birthstone, shaped in a heart. It had been her birthday present when she turned sixteen. Her earrings were silver spirals that came halfway to her shoulders.

Liz's dress was stunning as well. It was a deep, royal blue. The neckline was a v-shape and just a bit daring for the timeline. They'd tried to move it a bit, but without much success. Her sleeves were short and fluffed out flamboyantly. They were a bit lighter in color than the dress itself and were studded with little rhinestones. The bodice was fitted and fairly simple in form. They, however, had added some intricate stitching in a thread the same shade as the dress. It curled around her middle like waves on the ocean. Her dress also had a drop-waist, but it was softer and more curved, as opposed to the triangle shape of Sam's. Liz's skirt was made of a bit of a heavier material and flared back a bit, sort of like a spray of water.

"Sam, do you know what I just realized?" Liz asked around a mouthful of bobby pins, attempting to secure a wayward curl into her hairstyle.

Sam glanced at her friend and returned to her own hair battle. "What?" she asked, pushing a pin into place and attacking it with hairspray.

"Our dresses match our eye colors," she replied, frowning at her hair for being so stubborn and shoving another pin in for good measure.

Sam looked at her own gray eyes in the mirror and saw Liz's deep blue eyes. "That's a little weird, but kind of neat, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Liz nodded, a spray of hairspray finishing off her undo. The front of it was pulled back into an ornate knot so that two perfect ringlets fell in her face and the rest of it flowed down her back in shiny black curls.

"... Finished!" Sam exclaimed triumphantly, examining her style in the mirror. Her dark brown hair was curly, but not quite as much as Liz's. She had braided a few pieces of it throughout and pulled it back into a complicated bun that looked like an intricate knot more than anything. One spiral hung down in the front and brushed her shoulder. "I have no idea what to do for my makeup," she realized with a moan.

Liz grinned, waving her blush brush at her. "Have no fear, Lizzie's here!"

Sam faked a horrified look. "Why is that not comforting at all to me?" she asked and giggled when Liz whacked her in the arm with a clean powder puff. "Okay, just don't screw my face up too much, yeah?" She had to admit, the finished product was pretty darn good. It made her eyes look bigger, her lips fuller, and her cheeks rosier, but it didn't make her look overly made up.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"

"I love it, thank you so much!" Sam exclaimed, leaning over to hug Liz.

Liz, while obviously pleased with Sam's reaction, attempted to fend off the embrace. "You'll smudge your face!" she protested. "I'll just do mine and then we can put our dresses on and be off, yes?"

"Liz, I can't wait any longer," Sam said. "My corset is horrid, I'm just gonna go start getting dressed." She ducked behind the screen they'd set up and began worming her way into the torture device known as a corset. It squeezed at her ribs and made breathing a bit of a challenge. As she pulled the dress up over her body, she felt the employee at Apple Corps. slip away to be replaced with someone with far more grace and poise than she had.

Sliding the mask on over her eyes, the transformation was complete. She poked her head around the screen. "I'm coming out now," she called tentatively.

"I'm not getting any younger over here, hurry up!" Liz shouted. When Sam rounded the corner, her mouth dropped open. "Sammy, you look stunning!" she exclaimed. "I'm gonna have to beat the lads off you with a stick!"

"Cut it out, Liz," she blushed. "They're all famous, they won't want anything to do with a coffee girl."

"You never know," Liz winked. "I'm gonna go get dressed now, okay?" She disappeared behind the screen. Sam smoothed down her skirt, suddenly feeling nervous. She didn't know why, it wasn't as if she was going to know anybody but Ringo there. _Ringo._ Was he going to like her dress? Was it too gaudy? _You are so dumb, Samantha, _she thought. _You look fine. He'll be there with his wife anyway._

When Liz came out, she looked gorgeous. "Forget the stick, Liz," Sam laughed. "I'm going to need a bloody baseball bat to keep the blokes from swarming you!" She narrowly dodged a whack from Liz's handbag.

"Let's go, we don't want to be late, do we?" Liz pulled her coat on as she went out the door and hailed a cab.

"You ladies look charming," the cabbie told them as they got in. "Special night out with your boyfriends?" The girls gave each other looks before nodding. "Ah, that'll be lovely. Have a good time, now," he said as they paid him and exited the cab.

"Oh look, there it is!" Sam exclaimed, pointing to a fancy-looking building. Her heart kicked up a few notches and she prayed she wouldn't start blushing, thus melting her makeup.

Both of them held their breath as they were checked in by the door guard, hoping that something hadn't gone wrong and caused their names not to be on the list. Thankfully, it all went off without a hitch and they entered the main ballroom where they were immediately assaulted by music, talking, an an eyeful of many famous people. Sam smiled to herself, taking it all in.

"Ready to have the best Christmas Eve ever?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ringo adjusted his hat in the mirror, making sure it was straight. He glanced at the clock and called, "Mo, are you ready? We should get going!"

Mo came out into the main room with her costume only half on and wearing a sad expression. "Zak's got a bad fever and is throwing up. I need to cancel the sitter and stay home with him."

"Oh, love," Ringo sighed, pulling her into his arms. She was unresponsive to him.

"It's okay, I wasn't really looking forward to going anyway," she sighed, pulling out of his arms gently. He tried to kiss her lips, but missed and got her cheek instead.

"Bye Mo," he murmured after her retreating form. "I love you."

As one might imagine, Ringo wasn't in the best of moods when he arrived at the party. "Hey Rings," George said, coming up to him with Pattie on his arm. They were dressed up as a pirate and a sort of pirate/gypsy combination.

"Hi George, hello Pattie," he said, smiling a bit. Pattie saw Jane Asher out of the corner of her eye and left to go speak to her with a wave goodbye.

"Hey, where's Maureen?" George asked, looking concerned.

"Zak got sick, she's home with him," he sighed, feeling a little downcast.

"Let me buy you a drink," George said, clearly feeling bad for the drummer.

"Thanks, Geo," he said gratefully, following him over to the bar and sitting down to order a drink.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sam couldn't stop smiling as she and Liz walked around. She tried not to stare too much, but it was difficult. She spotted a lonely-looking cowboy figure sitting at the bar and drinking slowly from his beer. It was Ringo, but his wife wasn't there.

"Liz, do you want to meet Ringo?" she asked, knowing the answer.

Liz almost bowled her over in her enthusiasm. "Yes!" she exclaimed with a grin.

"C'mon, then," she said, making her way through the throngs of people to where the drummer was sitting. Tentatively, she sat down next to him. He turned to see who it was and his lips turned up in a small smile.

"Hey there, stranger," he said. "Having fun thus far?"

Sam nodded. "Very much so, but we haven't been here long. Rich, this is my friend Liz, the one I told you about," she said, stepping away so the two could shake hands. _More like warned, _she thought.

"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Starr," Liz said, almost shyly. Ringo had no such problem.

"Nice to meet you too, love," he said with a grin. "Sam's told me all about you."

"And you haven't run away screaming yet," Liz said jokingly, clearly a bit more at ease. "That's an accomplishment." Ringo laughed.

"Sam, do you want to dance?" he asked. Sam felt a blush creeping stealthily onto her face.

"Um, sure," she said, allowing herself to be led onto the dance floor and trying hard not to meet Liz's eyes, knowing that her friend would be grinning impishly at her.

"You look really nice tonight," Ringo told her. "I like your costume. What was the inspiration?"

"A late 1800's masquerade," she said with a smile. "Does it look authentic?"

Ringo chuckled. "I'm pants at history, love. I wouldn't know. It looks great to me." Sam grinned happily at the praise, her cheeks glowing. They danced in silence for a minute, and Sam concentrated on not tripping and making a fool of herself. She wasn't used to wearing such high heels.

Then she asked the question that was gnawing at her mind. "Is your wife here tonight?" she asked. His eyes lost a bit of their light and his brow creased momentarily. She was sorry she had asked.

"No, she's not," he sighed. "Our older son got a stomach bug of some sort and she had to stay home with him. But I'm not really sure if she wanted to come at all, really."

Sam winced in sympathy. She could tell it was bothering him. "That's too bad," she said. "I hope he feels better. Does she not like big crowds?" Sam asked as the song ended.

"That's just the thing," Ringo said. "Normally, she loves parties like these. I dunno if she's just feeling tired or she doesn't want to go with me." He looked sad and confused, which made Sam's heart twinge.

"Why wouldn't she?" she asked. "Surely she's got to be the luckiest woman in the world to be married to someone as lovely as you." Too late, she realized that she'd just broadcasted her feelings to him. Thankfully, she was spared by a person cutting in on their dance.

It was Mick Jagger. "Mind if I take such a pretty young thing for a spin across the dance floor?" he asked, the infamous Jagger smile baring his teeth. Sam's heart involuntarily skipped. A rock legend from one of her favorite bands was asking her to dance. The party grew more and more surreal by the minute.

Reluctantly, Ringo handed her off and Sam found herself in the arms of one of the biggest sex sharks of the century. She wondered if she should worry about that. "So, have you got a name, then?" he asked as they danced.

"Samantha McMillan," she said, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. He was holding her far too close to be considered casual and she had the notion that his intentions might not be the most innocent.

"Haven't seen you 'round before," he said, inching her closer to him. She scooted backwards a fraction of an inch.

"I work at Apple Corps.," she replied.

"What kind of work?"

She didn't miss the innuendo. "I answer the phone and deliver food and drinks," she explained.

"How'd you get into the party, then?" he asked.

"Ringo invited me," she said, spotting Chris O'Dell dancing with George Harrison nearby and mouthing the word, '_Help!' _to her frantically. Mick made her feel spectacularly nervous. Chris nodded, maneuvering her way over to them.

"Really?" he asked. "Why would that be?" Sam silently praised Chris's timing, because the woman saved her from having to answer and most likely have a load of comments about sex thrown at her. Sam was by no means unaware of sex or drugs, she just preferred to steer clear of both. To her, sex wasn't supposed to be a one night, don't know the name of the person, thing. It was supposed to mean something. And as for drugs, she'd tried most of it and found that any kind you would care to mention made her sick for days afterward.

"Hi Sam," she chirped. "Have you met George yet?"

Sam sighed in relief. "Hello, Chris. How are you? And no, I haven't," she said.

"Oh good, because I haven't talked with Mick tonight yet. We can switch dance parters, then,' she said happily, switching rock 'n' roll star for another. Sam patted her arm gratefully on the way past.

Soon, she found herself dancing with George Harrison. He was dressed as a pirate, complete with a fancy, embroidered jacket, imitation sword strapped to his hip, and a hat with gold stitching on the brim. "So you're Miss McMillan, right?" he asked, and Sam decided that he wasn't exactly quiet, just a little reserved in what he said and where.

"Yes, but you can call me Sam if you'd like," she said, brushing a wayward strand of hair out of her face.

"Alright then, Sam," he said with a smile. "Enjoying yourself?"

"With the exception of just now, yes," she replied, rolling her eyes with a huff of breath.

He nodded in agreement. "Mick can be a bit, shall we put this mildly, overwhelming sometimes," he said. He had a nice smile, Sam decided. It was friendly and inviting.

"A little?" she exclaimed. "Is that if you're used to him?"

George let out a hearty laugh. "Probably," he chuckled." They danced the rest of the song, and then John Lennon cut in with some news for George.

"Pattie's looking for you, mate." he informed George. "She looked a little flustered. Going by the hue of her face, I'd say she bumped into our friend Mick."

George sighed and rolled his eyes in a full circle. "Gear. Just gear. Thanks, John. Nice talking to you, Sam." They bid hasty goodbyes and the lead guitarist went in search of his distressed wife.

She danced with John for two songs. He was dressed as a teddy boy, which Sam supposed didn't surprise her much. His hair was greased back with copious amounts of product, his shirt was unbuttoned for the first three buttons with a leather jacket over the top and his pants were cuffed at the bottom.

"Coffee girl's name is Sam, eh?" John asked. Sam nodded. "And our dear drummer invited you?" She nodded again. He gave a faux sigh of exasperation. "Do you talk? At all?"

"Sometimes," she quipped.

"When?" he asked.

"When do you not?" she joked. "Talk, I mean."

He wagged a teasing finger at her. "Cheeky," he tsked. "How ever do you expect to find a man in your life if you jest like this?" Sam felt a bubble of irritation rise in her chest.

"Maybe I don't expect to," she said, still managing to laugh at the somewhat obnoxious rhythm guitarist.

"Which is why you came to the party with Mr. Starkey," he said, giving her a significant stare.

"Correction; I came to the party with my friend Elizabeth Watson because Rich invited _us,_" she said, feeling the back of her neck heat up.

"He doesn't let just anyone call him Rich, y'know," John pointed out. "Generally, he only asks people he _really cares about_ to call him that."

"We happen to be friends and only that," she retorted, the irritation level rising within her.

"Well—hello, who is _that_?" Sam followed John's slightly cross-eyed stare to Liz, who was at that moment surrounded by a gaggle of men. She noted a certain Rolling Stone among them.

"You can wipe the drool off your chin, that's my friend Liz," Sam tapped John's chin back into place.

John looked around a moment. "Paul! Oi, Paul!" he shouted. "I need a drink, you fancy a dance partner?" Paul McCartney wandered over from where he'd been observing the goings on.

"Hey! I remember you!" he exclaimed as they began to dance. "You're the coffee girl that gave me those papers."

"Call me Sam if you'd like," she said. "But if coffee girl is easier to remember, I'll answer to both," she chuckled.

"Your friend's name is Liz, right?" he inquired.

"News sure travels fast," Sam said. "Yeah, that's her."

"I talked to her a bit earlier," he said and she could tell that the doe-eyed bassist was smitten. "She's really gear."

"She is that," Sam agreed. "I'm parched. I've been dancing since I got here. Do you want to get a drink?" It was her subtle way of setting Liz up with Paul. She sincerely hoped it would work out.

"I don't even know you, but can I ask your advice on something?" Paul suddenly asked, eyes pleading.

"Shoot," Sam gave him the go-ahead and turned her full attention to the oncoming confession.

"My girl, Jane, and I, we aren't getting along very well and we haven't been for awhile. I want a family, she wants her career. We've been drifting apart for the better part of a year. What do I do?" he blurted the entire thing out in one breath.

Sam had an immediate answer. "Have a sit-down talk about what you both want in life. If it differs too much and you can't find a way to get around it, take it as a hint that it wasn't meant to be and break it off. Easier said than done, I know, but in the meanwhile, go chat Liz up." She grinned, waving Paul off as he went in search of the girl.

Remembering her thirst, Sam bought herself a drink and sat down, arranging her skirt as she did so. The dress, while pretty, was extraordinarily heavy. Soon, someone sat down next to her. It was Ringo.

"Hi, Rich," she said, turning to face him. He smiled broadly at the sight of her and Sam's stomach turned a series of rapid-fire cartwheels.

"Hullo," he said. They chatted for a few minutes, and then a slow song came on. "Do you want to dance?" he asked. It was one of the last songs of the evening.

"Sure, I'd love to," she replied. They wandered onto the dance floor. He put his arms around her waist and she looped her arms around his neck. Slowly, they drifted together.

_Some day, when I'm awfully low,_

_When the world is cold,_

_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_

_And the way you look tonight._

Slowly, the world faded away until all Sam could see in front of her was the wonderful face that belonged to her dance partner: Richard Starkey.

_Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm_

_And your cheeks so soft,_

_There is nothing for me but to love you,_

_And the way you look tonight._

_With each word your tenderness grows,_

_Tearing my fear apart_

_And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,_

_It touches my foolish heart._

Ringo said something funny, Sam couldn't remember exactly what it was, and then he turned pensive when she laughed. When she asked him what he was thinking about, he replied, "The way you laugh is beautiful. I love the way your nose wrinkles up a little bit." It made Sam blush, which made Ringo laugh even more.

_Lovely, never, ever change._

_Keep that breathless charm._

_Won't you please arrange it ?_

_Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._

All too soon, the song ended. Sam stared up into Rich's handsome face. A tiny, contented smile flitted across his lips. "I could use some air. Would you like to join me?" he asked. She nodded in the affirmative.

There was a balcony leading outside and the two stood in silence for a moment. The crisp, night air refreshed Sam and small snowflakes drifted onto her hair.

"Sam?" Rich asked. She turned to look at him.

"Yeah, Rich?" she got lost in his soulful blue eyes. It was almost like drowning, but she was still breathing. Sort of.

"There's something on my mind," he said uncomfortably. "I know I'm married, and I know this is wrong, but I can't stop thinking about you. Even when I'm not around you, somehow your laugh, your smile, or your eyes make their way into my thoughts." Sam knew where this was headed and wasn't sure if she was okay with it.

"Rich—" she began, but he shushed her with a single finger brushed against her lips.

"Please just let me finish," he pleaded. "You're the most fascinating girl I've ever known and I think... I think..." he trailed off and took a deep breath. "I think I might be falling in love with you."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Rich, I—" she never got the chance to finish her sentence, because Richard Starkey leaned in and pressed a warm kiss right on Samantha's mouth. She very nearly pulled away, but something stopped her and shut down all the warning lights going off in her head. Slowly, she pulled closer to him and wound her fingers through his hair. The kiss seemed to go on forever. Finally, the two broke apart to get some air.

Sam's cheeks were flushed, as were Rich's and his eyes were slightly unfocused. Then, he seemed to come to his senses. "Oh Christ, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—" Sam stopped the torrent of apologies with another kiss, softer than the first.

"Merry Christmas, Richard Starkey," she whispered into his lips. "I think I might love you too." And in that moment, everything was perfectly right and perfectly wrong.

**A/N: And that is the extremely late Christmas chapter. Ta da! This might go on an extended break yet again because I need to finish up the Christmas chapters for my other story and I need to bring my other stories back up to speed. Sorry!**

**Review? :)**


	6. Ch 5 I Won't Say (I'm in Love)

**A/N: Ohmygosh I am so so so so so sorry for not updating sooner! I have had the WORST case of writer's block known to mankind and it's been driving me bonkers. I hope people are still interested in this story!**

Suddenly, Sam came to her senses. She'd just snogged Ringo Starr. _The _Ringo Starr of The Beatles. A married man with two children. What was she thinking? "Rich, I have to go," she blurted, pulling out of his arms and running back inside. She heard him call after her, but she wasn't listening. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, _she berated herself as she looked for Liz.

Finally, she found her. She and Paul were giggling like moonstruck teenagers and Sam suspected that Liz may have had just a bit too much to drink. "Oi, Lizzie!" she called over the music and assortment of voices. "Let's go, it's late!"

She pulled a long face. "Sammy, you're no fun!" she shouted. _Yep, definitely drunk._

Sam groaned in irritation. "Yeah, that's me," she grumbled, marching through the crowd and taking her friend by the wrists. "Sammy-no-fun." Ignoring the loud protests, she pulled Liz out the door and hailed a cab.

"What's _wrong _with you?" Liz exclaimed, her words blurring together at times, every bit the confused drunk. "You were so happy a few minutes ago!"

"I made a stupid mistake, that's what's wrong," she said, more angry at herself than anything. It seemed to shut Liz up though, no more words were exchanged until they got back to Sam's flat. There, Sam fled to her room, shed her gown, yanked her nightie over her head, and flopped into bed.

Just before the uneasy waves of sleep claimed her, Sam felt a single tear trace down her cheek.

In the morning, Sam still felt out of it and Liz spent the first few hours of being awake on Christmas morning with an ice pack on her head. "Dear God, what was _in_ those drinks?" she moaned, stretching out on the couch. "My head is going to explode, implode, or some other form of painful destruction."

"Hm," Sam muttered noncommittally from her usual spot at the window. She was painting a picture of her window pane covered in a thin, spidery web of frost today to try and forget about the night before. But every time she looked at the frozen glass, a pair of big blue eyes were staring back at her.

"Oi, what's up with you?" Liz inquired. "You've been in a blue funk since last night. I thought you would've been happy since you danced with all of the Beatles, mostly with R—"

"Sod off Liz, okay?" Sam snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Did something happen between you and—" Liz almost said Ringo, but a dark glare from Sam prompted her to change her mind. "—him?" she asked gently.

"No... yes," Sam confessed, burying her head in her arms. "It's... I just..."

Liz nodded in apparent understanding, wincing as the slight motion jarred her hungover head. "You thought you were in love and you remembered all the complications?"  
Sam shook her head. "Not in love, I wouldn't say that. More like a little crush," she insisted stubbornly. "But it's gone now. He's a celebrity with a family and I shouldn't have let it go as far as I did. End of story."

"Okay," Liz said, rolling over on the couch. "If you need me, please don't wake me. Not unless the flat's burning down."

For a time, the room was silent, barring the sound of Sam's paintbrush moving across the canvas. She succeeded in getting paint all over her painting shirt and her face when she stopped to think and accidentally dabbed paint onto her skin from the end of her brush. When the doorbell rang, she was so surprised she painted a gray streak across her nose.

Scrubbing at it half-heartedly—whoever was probably at the door knew she was an aspiring artist—she opened the door and poked her head out. There was no one there. "Hello?" she called, shivering when the cold December wind nipped at her face. No one answered. Slightly frustrated, she turned to go back inside until something caught her eye. It was a takeaway bag from Mary's Cafe.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoO

When Ringo got home, his head was in all sorts of turmoil. He loved his wife, didn't he? She was beautiful, kind, sweet, and funny. Not to mention, she was the mother of their two children. They'd been so happy until recently.

But the more he thought about it, the more he saw a pair of silvery gray eyes shining at him, a soft, pink pair of lips, and long, wavy, chestnut-colored hair. In other words, he kept seeing the entrancing face of Samantha McMillan. All of these thoughts were driving him batty and he was awake for a long time staring at the ceiling intently, as though it might hand him the answer to the problem he was currently facing.

It did not give him a solution, but it did make him realize what his heart was telling him. At around four in the morning, he could deny it no longer. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in his pillow. _I'm in love with Sam. Shit._

But what to do?

The next morning, he was awoken after about thirty minutes of sleep by Zak leaping onto the bed, squealing with joy, "Mummy, daddy, wake up! It's Christmas! Wake up!"

Mo woke up, pushing her long hair away from her face. "Good morning, sweetheart," she chuckled, scooping the ecstatic boy into her arms an kissing the top of his head. "Merry Christmas! Go get your slippers and go on downstairs, okay? We'll be down in a moment." When Zak had scampered out of the room, she turned to Ringo and kissed him sweetly. He tried his hardest to respond with feeling, but somehow felt he came up a bit short.

When Mo pulled away, her forehead crinkled. "Rich, why've you got lipstick on your cheek?" Her voice was accusatory. Ringo blanched, until he remembered that that particular mark had probably not been from Sam.

"Oh, that," he said. "Astrid paid us a surprise visit. The other lads have matching marks." It was true; the outgoing German girl had stopped by the party and bestowed lipstick-heavy kisses on the cheeks of all four Beatles.

"Alright," she said, apparently appeased. She took his hand. "Merry Christmas, love," she whispered. Ringo pressed three kisses to her face; one on each cheek and one on her forehead and proceeded to go downstairs. Mo crossed the hallway to get Jason from his room.

When he got downstairs, he saw Zak wriggling around on the couch and staring longingly at the crisply wrapped presents. Laughing, he picked the small boy up and ruffled his hair. "Let's have some breakfast before we go tearing through those, yeah?" he asked his son, carrying him into the kitchen.

"Okay, daddy," he chirped, settling into his chair and succeeding in making himself look positively tiny. Ringo felt a surge of guilt run through him. This was his family, these three people. No one else. And yet...

The housekeeper had made them a hot breakfast and put it in the warmer so she could go home and be with her family today. Gratefully, Ringo pulled the plates out and carried them to the modestly sized kitchen table. Mo was just getting a squirmy Jason into his high chair.

"Hey there," Ringo tickled Jason under the chin. His infant son burbled happily and grabbed onto his finger with tiny starfish hands. "Merry Christmas."

Breakfast was rushed since Zak had crammed his pancakes into his mouth so fast he looked more like a syrupy chipmunk than a little boy. Remembering that his camera was on the counter, Ringo tipped back in his chair, grabbed it, and snapped a quick picture. And then for good measure, he took one of Jason joyfully smearing syrup all over his face, and also one of Mo laughing at her two sons.

"Wash your hands before you go in the sitting room, Zak!" Mo reminded him as he was making a beeline for the presents. With a theatrical groan, he scurried back into the kitchen and hurriedly scrubbed his hands together under the faucet.

"It is definitely Christmas," Ringo said to Mo, gently easing a very sticky Jason out of his high chair and getting a cloth to wipe him down a little. "All rules seem to be temporarily forgotten." She laughed as she watched him chase after a sticky spot with the wet cloth.

"I think you're right, love," she said, standing up and pecking his cheek softly.

For the next hour or so, Zak opened his presents with excitement. It took a long time for each one because he'd absolutely _have _to try out any present he got. Soon, the living room was a flurry of wrapping paper.

Even with his arm around his wife's shoulders, Ringo's thoughts kept straying back to the lovely Sam. He wanted to chase the thoughts away, but they stubbornly stayed in his head, dancing around out of reach.

At around eleven-thirty, the phone rang. "I'll get it," Ringo said over his shoulder, picking up the receiver. "Starkey household."

"Hey Rings, Merry Christmas!" It was Paul.

"Merry Christmas, mate," Ringo replied.

"I was wondering—"

"If you tell me we need to go to the studio I think I might have to kill you."

"Looks like I'm watching my life flash before me eyes, then. We need you there in an hour or less."

"You have got to be bloody kidding me." Ringo heaved a huge sigh and leaned against the wall, hitting his head against it in a steady, soft rhythm.

"I wish I were. See you when you get there." Paul hung up and Ringo put the receiver down, groaning loudly and ruffling up his hair.

"Damn it," he muttered. It was like his life was making this whole 'stay faithful' thing _deliberately _hard. "Damn it, damn it, _dammit_."

"Rich, is something wrong?" his wife called from the sitting room. Ringo paused, took a deep breath, screwed a faux smile on his face, and reentered the room. Mo sat on the floor with Jason cradled in one arm and Zak in her lap. Jason was drowsing after such excitement, as was his brother. The older one was attempting vainly to keep his drooping eyes open.

"That was Paul on the phone," he murmured into her ear regretfully, more regret for the amount of pure self-restraint he was going to have to utilize than regret for having to leave.

She moaned unhappily. "Studio?" she asked even though she knew the answer. He nodded with an equal lack of joy. "Don't be too long, okay? I'm making dinner tonight, all of your favorites."

He grinned appreciatively. That would give him incentive to come home early, that was for sure. "Okay, love. I'll see you later. I love you."

"Love you, too," she said, giving a quick, chaste kiss goodbye.

When Ringo got to the studio, his mood had not significantly improved rom when he'd gotten the call. "What's so bloody important, Macca?" he growled upon entering the room.

"Merry Christmas to you too," George said dryly from his seat, plucking idly at the strings of his guitar with long fingers.

"I just wanted to get an advance look at some of the new stuff for our next album and make a couple plans," Paul said, feet propped up on one of his amplifiers.

"If you must know, I was having a perfectly normal Christmas morning with my family," Ringo muttered, plopping down in the seat generally reserved for him. A headache was beginning to throb at the back of his head.

"Normalcy in the Beatles is relative," John added his two cents to the mix, inspecting his glasses for uncleanliness. "It's not like we're gonna be here all day.

"That's not the point, John," Ringo said, hands flying into the air to aid in his expression of exasperation.

"Then what _is_ the point, pray tell? 'Cos it's never bothered you before, having to come in suddenly."

Suddenly, Ringo felt spectacularly uncomfortable. He passed a hand through his hair quickly and let his eyes drop to the floor. These actions did not escape the raptor gaze belonging to John.

"I—I—"

"In fact, you've never really been in a bad mood before in the studio. So what's got you distracted? Did something happen last night—Oh... You danced with coffee girl all night, or thereabouts. What happened between you and her, hm?" It was all in good fun; John generally never meant ill in his sort of joking, but it still made Ringo flush bright red.

"Nothing! Nothing happened."

"Saying nothing twice brings to mind the phrase, 'he doth protest too much.'"

"You're making me think, 'he doth annoy too much.'"

John got up, staggered around, and flopped against Ringo dramatically. "Oh, such barbed words from a lovelorn, conflicted young man!" he exclaimed, a telltale smirk curling his lips up.

"Bastard," Ringo allowed a small grin to appear. "'M not lovelorn!"

John's eyebrows shot up playfully. He'd achieved his mission, which was to cheer the morose drummer up even a little bit. "Oh, really now? Is this the same Ringo who chattered about his new 'friend', Miss Samantha McMillan? How funny she is, how witty, how lovely..."

"I didn't talk that much about her!"

"So you admit you did talk about her?"

Ringo let out a cry of defeat. "Damn you and your wit of steel, Lennon," he sighed. "Am I really so obvious?"

"So I am right, then?" John crowed with victory, and then sobered. "Sorry about that, Rings, you know I'm kidding, right? Aye, that's rough, having conflicting feelings about two birds."

"You're telling me," Paul chimed in glumly. "I'm trying to decide between Jane and Liz right now. It ain't easy, believe me."

"It's just, Mo and I have been having a lot of trouble in our relationship and then there comes Sam, absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way. Sometimes I think Mo and I are only together because of the kids right now."

"Sounds like you've got some thinking to do," George rejoined the conversation. "I happened to see you and Miss McMillan doing a bit of snogging last night."

"Did everyone see that?" Ringo huffed, leaning back in his seat.

"No, but I was sorta watching," George said. "I watched her last night and she hardly took her eyes off you the entire time she was there. Maybe you should go talk to her?"

"Are you bonkers? I can't do that, with the way my head is working I'll end up shagging her before I get two words out!" Ringo protested.

Ever the voice of reason, George gave him a calm response, "Then leave her a note. Just don't let it turn into you two exchanging letters or you'll never get anywhere."

"I could kiss you, Georgie," the drummer said gratefully.

"Please, don't," he said, making a disgusted face that was replaced a few seconds later with a grin.

They went quickly in the studio since everyone could tell Ringo was practically tearing himself to pieces mentally. Soon, they were packing up and he was dashing out the door, fumbling with the buttons on his coat stiffly as he made his way to the cafe he and Sam would go to on difficult days. He figured he might as well cover his bases and make a peace offering to go along with the note.

Picking up a blueberry scone and a to-go cup of coffee, he put them in a paper bag and wandered up and down the street looking for a cab. All of a sudden, the local flower shop caught his eye. _I'm already going out on a limb here, might as well just add a flower._

He went in to the shop and browsed the flowers. The roses with their sweet, delicate fragrance caught his attention and he saw a light pink one that reminded him of the kiss they had shared the night before. Before he could change his mind, he picked it out and paid for it.

"Ah, this is a pretty one," the shopkeeper said amiably. "For a special girl, yes?" He didn't seem to recognize Ringo.

"Yes, I think so," he said, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

The shopkeeper nodded. "Good luck, young man."

His words seemed to bolster Ringo's confidence for some odd reason. "Ta very much," he said, exiting the store and finding a cab to take him to Sam's flat. When he got there, he realized he'd forgotten to get a piece of paper for a note. There was a pen in his pocket, though.

Instead of writing a note, he scribbled, _"Please call me: 943-9284. ~RS"_ on the cup holder on the coffee cup. He had no doubt she'd know exactly who had left the note. "Here goes nothing," he whispered to himself, quietly placing the bag in front of the door and quickly ringing the doorbell, hiding in the alley next door. He watched Sam come out of her house with paint on her face and old shirt, pick up the bag, examine it, turn pale, and hurry inside.

With a sigh, he hailed another cab to take him home. All he could do now was wait.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoO

Sam retreated into her flat and stared at the bag incredulously. It was still warm, so whoever had put it there had done it quickly. In her heart, she knew it could really only be one person that would've left a bag from that particular cafe in front of _her _flat.

"Someone there?" Liz queried from the kitchen. She was making them a pot of tea so they could watch a Christmas movie together and relax for the day.

"No," Sam replied slowly, moving as if she were in a dream. In the kitchen, she opened the bag to see three things. The first was a cup of coffee, fixed exactly the way she liked it. The second, a blueberry scone. And the third was a light pink rose.

"Who left you those?" asked Liz, peering at the items. "You don't think it could be..."

"Who else?" said Sam, noticing the writing on the cup at last. Call him? At his home number? As if!

"Ringo Starr left you his home number so he could talk to you?" Her friend could scarcely believe it. "When a man is that dedicated, marry him!"

"He's kinda already married, Lizzie. Just in case you missed it."

"Really. You've only mentioned it about a hundred times. I hadn't noticed."

"Cheeky. And what about you and Paul?"

"That was a one night thing, darling. There's nothing more to it. Now you on the other hand..."

"I am not now, nor have I ever, been in love with Richard Lee Starkey," Sam maintained, finishing the coffee and scone and staring at the rose questioningly. It wasn't like enjoying the food was incriminating, was it?

"Mhm, you just keep telling yourself that, Sammy," Liz had a knowing look on her face that irritated Sam to no end. With a scowl, she stalked into her room with the rose with the mumbled explanation of finding a vase of water for the flower. When she got in there, she flopped on the bed with the flower clasped to her chest.

"I'm not in love, I don't care _what _Liz thinks," she said over and over in a sort of mantra, attempting to convince herself.

_If there's a prize for rotten judgement,_

_I guess I've already won that_

_No man is worth the aggravation_

_That's ancient history,_

_Been there._

_Done that._

_No chance, no way, I won't say it, no no_

_It's too...cliché_

_I won't say I'm in love_

_I thought my heart had learned its lesson_

_It feels so good when ya start out_

_My head is screaming "get a grip, girl!"_

_"Unless you're dying to cry your heart out!"_

Being in her mid-twenties, Sam had had her fair share of love and heartache, the latter very closely following the former at all times. Being in love was fun, at least at first. But then something would happen and she would spend the next few weeks piecing her heart back together after either she or the guy ended it for some reason or another. Every time she fell in love she knew she was falling right into a trap, but she couldn't help it sometimes. This time, she was determined not to let that happen.

_Woah_

_No chance, no way, I won't say it, no no_

_You're way off base_

_I won't say it_

_Get off my case_

_I won't say I'm in love_

_No chance, no way, I won't say it, no no_

_The scene won't play_

_I won't say I'm in love_

_You're way off base_

_I won't say it_

_No chance, no way, I won't say it, no no_

_The scene won't play_

_I won't say I'm in love_

After awhile, Sam knew there was no way she could possibly deny it. She was absolutely, one hundred percent in love with an absolutely perfect, unattainable person. That person had a name, and their name was Ringo Starr. Now she just had to figure out what to do about it.

_Ooooooh_

_At least out loud_

_I won't say I'm in...love_

**A/N: Ooh, conflicting emotions! Will they get resolved? Who knows? :)**

**Did you like it? Review! :3 Also, I don't own the song I Won't Say (I'm in Love). I just thought it would be appropriate.**


	7. Chapter 6 To Love or Not to Love?

**A/N: It's the "confrontation of feelings" chapter! Yay! Emotions!**

Sam put off calling Rich for as long as she could. In fact, she put it off until they were a week into the new year and she grew exasperated with trying to hide in the various nooks and crannies at Apple Corps. Hesitantly, she dialed the number on the paper slip that had been around the cup. She sincerely hoped Mrs. Starkey wouldn't pick up because she knew she'd slam the phone down in fear and never try to call again.

To her mingled relief and dread, Rich picked up. "Starkey household, Richard speaking." Sam almost stammered that she had the wrong number, but she made herself talk.

"Hi Rich, it's Sam."

She heard him breath in sharply. "Oh, hi Sam. How are you?"

"Not bad, yourself?"

"Little knackered, if I'm being honest. Too many late nights at the studio."

"Yeah, you guys have been doing some late nights recently."

"Yeah."

Sam could stand the pointless banter designed to avoid the subject they needed to talk about no longer. "I actually called to talk about Christmas Eve," she blurted out, cheeks still flaming red at the memory. Rich paused for a long time, so long Sam wondered whether he'd hung up on her.

But finally, he spoke, "'Spose we do need to talk about that, huh?" His voice was uncomfortable and stiff.

"As much as we need to talk about, I honestly have no idea what to say," Sam confessed hopelessly, slumping against the wall. Maybe this had all been a big waste of time. Liz peeped around the doorway just then and pointed at the phone excitedly. Sam rolled her eyes and waved her away. She sighed and retreated, but Sam knew she'd still be listening.

"Me either, but we can't very well just leave it as is," Rich replied.

"No, I know. But what can I say? I definitely have feelings for you, but you're already in a relationship. And you have two beautiful kids. I can't interfere with that. I can't ruin that for you."

"Look Sam, you won't be ruining my life if somehow this ends up going farther. It's already sorta falling to pieces and you're the first thing good thing that's come along in a long time."

Sam licked her lips nervously. She could tell he felt it was the truth. "And your wife? What about her?" She just had to ask: just to make sure.

"Our relationship's been having problems for awhile now. Sometimes, I think the only reason we stay together is for the sake of our sons' childhoods." He sounded so sure of himself, why was she having such difficulties then?

"Rich, you're making this sound so straightforward and easy, so black and white. It's not, though, and I don't know what to say or do anymore," Sam said, choking a little as her voice broke. She was having so many conflicting emotions it was a wonder her heart and head weren't exploding.

His voice was gentle and quiet. "This is a hard discussion to have over the phone, Sam. I don't think it's really working for either of us. I'll come over and we can talk it out, okay? Things like these are easier face-to-face."

"No Rich, w—" Sam received an earful of dial tone by way of an answer to her protest. "_Shit,_" she whispered, slowly setting the phone down. "Him, _here_. Oh bloody hell." Her voice had steadily risen and Liz came back in concern.

"Sam, what is it?" she asked. "You've gone stark white."

"Rich—Ringo," she corrected herself. Rich was a term of endearment. She would only use his stage name. Somehow, she thought it would help her distance herself from the situation emotionally. "He's coming here."

Liz frowned. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"Because I have no idea what's going to happen, that's why! And I'm bloody well terrified! There, I said it. Liz, I'm goddamn scared of what might happen."

"Sam, what's the worst that'll come of this? Tell me, 'cause all I see is a potentially awkward conversation happening. It's not like you'll end up shagging on the floor, not if you don't want me to see or hear it."

Sam flushed bright red. "Liz, must you always jump to the worst-case scenario? I'm not worried about that—well, I am, but it's not my main concern. I'm worried about seeing him again. If I see him again, I will not be able to say no to him no matter how loud my mind is screaming at me to do so."

Liz looked at Sam with sympathy, putting her hands on her shoulders gently. "Maybe it's because your heart is speaking louder than your mind. And it's saying, 'go to him, you idiot. You'll not find someone like him again. They don'y make men like that anymore.'"

She smiled hesitantly at her friend, opening her mouth to thank her, but she got interrupted by the doorbell ringing in a way suggesting the ringer's hand was trembling. "That'll be him," she whispered, more to herself than anything else. Liz gave her an encouraging look, shooing her out of the room toward the door.

Slowly, she walked toward the door, heart seemingly intent on beating out of her chest and beating her to the door. Her hand trembled around the doorknob, nervously rotating it and pulling the door open. Rich stood in the doorway, rubbing a finger across his mustache repeatedly.

Sam cleared her throat. "Um, hi Rich," she said.

"Hi Sam." They stood there for several long seconds, Sam forgetting to let him in, until Rich spoke again. "May I come in?"

Remembering how cold it was, Sam flushed and leapt aside. "Oh, sorry! Of course, come on in."

He stepped over the threshold, eyes taking in the tiny flat with the drawing notebooks stacked here and there, a canvas set up by the window, paintings and drawings on the walls, and the pair of blue eyes peering around the corner of the kitchen. "It's not very much, but it's home, I guess," Sam said in embarrassment.

He shook his head, still staring at the paintings. "I like it a lot. It's unique and kinda cosy feeling."

"Thanks." Sam motioned for him to sit down in an armchair across the one she sat in, burying herself in the comfortable piece of furniture and drawing her knees up to her chest. Liz popped in, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. She made a great show of setting it down and making it just right until Sam fixed her with a pointed look.

"Okay! I'm going," she sighed, waving a dramatic hand in their general direction as she exited the room.

"Sam, I know you're scared right now," Ringo said gently, setting his cup back in the saucer and putting it aside after a few moments. "You've got a real fear of the unknown and I guess I sorta get why. But, I've never really felt like this about a woman until now."

"And how many women have you told that?" Sam made a weak joke, twisting one of her curls around her finger repeatedly. He gave her a look, standing up, crossing the room, and crouching down in front of her chair.

"Maybe a few, but I've never meant it this much," he murmured.

"Rich, I'm honestly still at a loss for words."

"Then don't say anything. You don't have to have the answer for everything in the world."

"No, but I get the feeling this would work better if I did."

"Not necessarily," Rich traced his tongue across his lips, reaching out to take Sam's hand. "I know I've got a family, but right now all that's good about it is my kids. They say Bob Dylan's got a song for every situation you could possibly imagine, and I think I've found my answer to you in one of them."

"Rich—"

"Just ignore the lack of guitar and passable singing, yeah?" Sam's mouth opened in wonder as Rich took her hand between both of his and pressed it to the left side of his chest, right over his heart. She could feel the pattering beat of his nervous heart, the slightly choppy breaths, and the deep vibrations of his voice as he sang. In that moment, she felt all of her inhibitions begin to melt away, like a pat of butter slowly sliding off a hot pancake.

_When the rain is blowin' in your face_

_And the whole world is on your case_

_I could offer you a warm embrace_

_To make you feel my love._

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear_

_And there is no one there to dry your tears_

_I could hold you for a million years_

_To make you feel my love._

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet_

_But I would never do you wrong_

_I've known it from the moment that we met_

_No doubt in my mind where you belong._

_I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue_

_I'd go crawlin' down the avenue_

_No, there's nothin' that I wouldn't do_

_To make you feel my love._

_The storms are raging on the rollin' sea_

_And on the highway of regrets_

_The winds of change are blowing wild and free_

_You ain't seen nothin' like me yet._

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true_

_There's nothing that I would not do_

_Go to the ends of the Earth for you_

_To make you feel my love._

When he finished, he gave her a sheepish look. "Cor, think I'm turning into Paul with all this mushy business."

Sam's brain took an utterly unrelated tangent and she found herself asking, "Why don't you sing more? On the albums I mean." She clapped her free hand—Rich had yet to let go of her other one—in mortification. "Oh God, sorry. That was insensitive—" Rich cut her off, chuckling.

"No, don't worry about it. Actually, I don't really know why I don't sing very much. 'Spose it's because I don't write much music, and our resident songwriters can't often be bothered to churn out a song for me to sing." He shrugged. "Anyway, any particular thoughts now?"

"Firstly, you should sing more. I like your voice. And secondly," she took a long deep breath. "Every instinct I've got is telling me this is wrong, but I'm saying 'fuck instinct' because my heart outvotes any instincts I might have." For the second time ever, Sam shut her brain down and leaned in to kiss Richard Starkey full on the lips. He met her halfway, stroking her hair away from her face tenderly as their lips touched. His mouth was warm and tasted like tea, biscuits, and cigarettes. Feeling just a hint bold, she moved her mouth gently against his. He responded by leaning deeper into the kiss and moving both of his hands to cradle her face.

Sam linked her arms around his neck and held on like he was a lifeline, kissing him until it felt like her whole mind, heart, and soul belonged solely to him. Finally, she broke away to breathe and rested her forehead on his, opening her eyes at last to see his soulful blue eyes watching her closely. She laughed quietly, moving over so they could sort of share the chair.

"Something funny?" he inquired, kissing her cheek.

She shook her head. "Less 'ha-ha' funny than it is sort of, 'that's strange' funny. Do you know that your eyes have been haunting that painting over there for the past few weeks?" She pointed to the painting of the window pane still sitting on the easel.

"My _eyes_ have been haunting your painting?" he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

"You're making me feel stupid!" she protested, shoving at his shoulder. "Every time I looked out the window, I could see your eyes staring back at me. I guess it was my subconscious nudging me in the right direction, yeah?"

"Probably was," he replied. After a moment, he spoke again. "Sam?"

"Hm?"

"This chair is quite comfortable..."

"I'm sensing a 'but' in your tone."

"Well, it's just that I'm wondering if it was really created with the thought of two people sitting in it at the same time? Because it doesn't feel like it."

She started to laugh and realized how uncomfortable it was to be wedged into the armchair. "Oh, sorry!I hadn't... sorry!" She stood up and went over to the couch instead.

Rich stood up and flexed his arms thoughtfully. "No harm done, I don't think. My limbs appear to be functioning mostly properly." He sat down beside her and tucked an arm around her shoulders. "I told Mo I was going to the studio today. She won't expect me home for another couple of hours at least. D'you want to stay here, or go somewhere? I've got all the time in the world."

Sam stiffened at the mention of his wife. It was so easy to forget there were several rather large complicating factors in their relationships. "I feel so strange, like I'm sneaking around like an escaped criminal or something."

Rich kissed her cheek delicately. "Sam, the only crime you've committed is stealing my heart. And you know, I don't think I want it back either."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, good." She grinned cheekily. "I wasn't planning on giving it back any time soon."

"I wouldn't mind if you kept it forever, only..."

"Only, what?"  
"Only I get to keep yours in return."

They sat on the couch for a long while without speaking, only sneaking the occasional kiss here and there. Sam snuggled deeply into Rich's side, listening to the steady in and out of his breathing like the rush of an ocean tide." She had nearly lulled herself to sleep when he broke the silence and it surprised her a little.

"Would you draw me something?" The question was halting, as though he didn't know quite how to best phrase it.

"Sorry?" Sam twisted to look him in the eye.

"Could you draw something for me?" he repeated. "I don't especially care what, I'd just like to have a piece of your artwork with me when I can't be around you."

Sam tried to bring her mind back to functioning properly. Ringo Starr asked her to draw something for him. No, this was Rich. He was Ringo Starr on stage, but he was plain, simple, wonderful Rich to her. "Um, sure," she said, getting to her feet to find a sketchpad and materials. She sat down across from him and studied the way he looked out the window with pensive eyes before she put her pencil to the paper.

Slowly, the soft scratching of the drawing implement shaped Rich's face, the slightly mussed hair, the neatly trimmed mustache, the kind features, the somewhat large nose, and the beautiful, big blue eyes. He watched her intently, eyes flickering from her face to her hand shaping the drawing.

The drawing was a close-up of Rich's face staring slightly to the side, a faraway look in his eyes and a hand resting under his chin. Any definition past just a little of his neck and wrist faded away into the background. She wasn't sure what possessed her to draw him, but she couldn't imagine drawing anything—or anyone—else at that particular moment.

When she finished it, she handed it to him nervously, awaiting his appraisal. He stared at it for several moments, seemingly at a loss for words. "Well?"

"It's... I can't think of any words to describe how much I love it, Sam," he said, kissing her lips gently, eyes still on the picture. "Why aren't you a famous artist right now? Y'know, living in New York in a posh flat, smoking with one of those extension things, going to a different artist's party every night?"

Sam laughed. "Because I've been to New York and told I've got a long way to go before I'm good enough. And I didn't like it there. Too noisy. I never got the hang of smoking with one of those things and the parties are dead boring, which I found out when I got dragged along to one when I was there. You sit around and eat caviar, which is positively disgusting."

"Well, I'm sort of glad you didn't stay there," he whispered.  
"Why is that?"

"'Cause I never would've met you if you had."

**A/N: *collective aww-ing* Review? :)**


	8. Chapter 7 Ain't Love a Kick in the Head?

**A/N: So sorry for not posting sooner! Stupid school... *grumbles***

That afternoon was one of the happiest in Sam's memory. She tried not to grin like an idiot, she really did. It was difficult and she didn't quite succeed. Every so often, Rich would notice the perpetual smile and send her one in return, squeezing her hand gently. The warm touch of his hand sent shivers up her body.

They decided not to go out, but instead stayed in and sat on the couch talking. Rich never once let go of her hand. Despite all of her prior implications and protests, Sam was falling in love with the charismatic drummer. Quickly. It was love in the head-over-heels, quicker than one could blink variety. And she found she didn't mind. Not even a little.

It felt like she'd just fallen down the rabbit hole, but in a good way. Rich was different from any man she'd ever dated. He was sensitive, sweet, and, if she was being perfectly honest, flat-out adorable. Every once in awhile, he'd say something that didn't quite fit with how conventional English was supposed to work. When Sam laughed, he merely shrugged with a chuckle and explained that John called the malapropisms he created, 'Ringoisms'. She made a mental note to remember all of them.

All too soon, Rich pressed his face into her hair with an air of regret. "I really don't want to," he murmured. "But I've gotta get going." Sam sighed in resignation, pressing herself into his embrace as much as possible.

"I know, but I don't want you to," she whispered, kissing his forehead. In an impossibly short length of time, her world seemed to revolve around him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, see if I can sneak away from the studio for a few minutes,' he promised, kissing both of her cheeks and then her lips.

"I'll be waiting for you," she replied, trying to make the kiss last as long as possible. Finally, Rich groaned against her mouth, pulling away.

"If we keep doing that, I'm never gonna be able to leave," he said reluctantly, getting up and straightening his clothes.

"Damn, there's my plan foiled," Sam giggled, standing up with him. She walked him to the door, hugging him tightly after his coat was on and buttoned up. He pecked her swiftly on the lips.

"See you in the morning," he said, leaning his forehead against hers and walking away, the very ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"Bye, Rich!" she called, waving from the door. He turned and tipped an imaginary hat on his head before getting in a car. She watched him until she couldn't see his car any longer and then some. In fact, she stood there until Liz loudly cleared her throat from somewhere near the kitchen.

Her friend smirked at her triumphantly. "Well, I won't say I told you so…" She limped forward—the cold must have been bothering her leg—and lightly tapped Sam on the chest. "But I told you so!" she crowed in a sing-song voice.

"Aren't you clever," Sam muttered, swatting at Liz's hand in a teasing way. "It's not as though _I'm _the only one with a difficult relationship with a Beatle." She raised a knowing eyebrow at her friend.

Liz rolled her eyes. "That, my friend, was a good old flirting session designed to last for that one night and that one night only. Neither one of us expected anything more, and therefore, I have no problem."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Sam trailed off vaguely. She recalled Paul had some pretty strong feelings for her friend. The phone began to ring a few minutes later and she picked it up, leaning against the wall.

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank God. I thought I dialed a wrong number… again." It was Paul McCartney's voice.

"Can I ask why you were looking for my phone number?" Sam knew at least part of the answer already, she just wanted to hear him say what she thought was his answer.

"I, uh, well…" She could practically hear him fidgeting nervously. "I broke it off with Jane last night."

"You _what_?" Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"In my defense, things _have_ been touchy with us for ages, but I…err…she kinda caught me in bed with another bird."

"So technically _she_ broke it off with _you,_" she clarified.

"It's not like I was trying to make it happen!" he protested. "But I guess it was sorta for the best, yeah?"

Sam suddenly felt terribly sorry for Jane Asher. Going off and having sex with another girl wasn't exactly what she'd meant when she told him to try and sort his love life out. Really, that was about the furthest thing from it. "Not really. I'm going to be honest, that was a bit of a dickish thing to do. I didn't mean for you to cheat on her when I said 'sort it out.'"

"Yeah, I know." He seemed to have deflated a bit at her words. "Say, is Liz there?"

He had apparently not deflated nearly enough. Sam felt her eyes roll skyward. He was such a _male_. "Yes, but I'm not going to let you do what I think you're going to do."

"How do you know what I'm going to do?" He sounded defensive.

"You're going to start flirting with her again, thereby going on the rebound. Not happening on my watch. It wouldn't be good for either of you," Sam explained. "Cool your feet a little and talk to me in a couple of weeks."

"A couple _weeks_?" he cried. "But—"

"No 'buts'," Sam firmly maintained. "I don't want you rushing into something that could hurt one or both of you, specifically her. She's my best mate."

"Okay." He gave in. "Fine."

"Thanks, Paul." She sighed to herself in relief. "I'll probably see you tomorrow."

"Oi, wait a tick!" He wasn't finished with her yet. "What about you and Ringo, hm?"

"Not your concern," she said quickly. "Bye." She hung up before he could get another word in and turned to see Liz roughly two inches from her face.

"Who was on the phone?" she inquired.

"No one," Sam hedged, trying to avoid her friend. No such luck, she cornered her and put a fist on her hip.

"You mentioned me, I have a right to know who it was," she insisted.

"Oh all right," Sam sighed. "It was the prime minister. He wishes you a lovely day."

Liz shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "Nice try, smart arse. Who was it?"

"Paul McCartney."

"Sam, I'm serious—"

"So am I."

"Shut. Up." Liz's mouth dropped open.

"He wanted to talk to you, but I told him he needed to cool his jets a little first."

Sam prepared to catch Liz lest she faint from disbelief. "Why would you do _that_?"

"Because he'd be completely on the rebound right now if I did."

"The re—he's not single!"

"He's recently single. As in, _last night_ recently single."

"But why call _me_?" Liz frowned. Sam arched one eyebrow meaningfully. "Oh no, nope. Not true. False, in fact."

"We'll see," said Sam cryptically. "I'm going for a walk before it gets dark. Do you want to come?"

"Nah," her friend waved a dismissive hand in the air. "I'm gonna see if my writer's block has gone on vacation yet. It's been doing some long hours recently." Liz, when she wasn't busy busing tables at a nearby diner, was a writer. Or an aspiring one, anyway. Poetry was her strong suit but recently she'd been trying her hand at short stories. She'd had some success, but not nearly enough to satisfy her.

"You ever going to send any of that into a publisher?" Sam asked. Liz shrugged uncertainly.

"Maybe when I write something I can actually tolerate looking at twice," she responded.

Sam shook her head, buttoning up her coat. Liz was far too hard on herself. Her writing was easily good enough to get published.

On her walk, she watched the small crowds of people move around her. Some walked at a leisurely pace, others nearly ran. Every face told a story of some sort, be it happy or sad… or a bit of both. She wished she could capture those faces on a canvas. To some it would be a boring painting of a bunch of random faces. To others, it would be a brief collection of short stories. She hoped the latter of the two was what most people saw.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ringo stood in front of the mirror, a silent war going on in his head. _Mo. Sam. Mo. Sam. Kids. Family. Sam. Beautiful, lovely Sam._ _Oh, God._ He knew the whole Sam thing wouldn't get very far in all likelihood but at that moment thoughts of her had taken up residency in his head. It was like he was a teenager all over again, with raging hormones and wild obsessions.

"Rich?" Mo's voice called. He flinched, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He stuck his head around the doorframe.

"Yeah, love?"

"You've been in there for an awfully long time, are you all right?" A year ago, she would've actually come in the room to check on him. "Hm? Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Couldn't find one of me socks. Must've buried it when I showered."

She made a hmm-ing noise in response. Ringo sighed. He couldn't believe how quickly his love life could get tangled up like a dropped ball of yarn.

They were scheduled to start brainstorming for their next album, or rather, Ringo was going to sit with his drums and occasionally add input. He'd been meaning to learn how to play chess anyway. He didn't stop for breakfast, but merely kissed Mo on the cheek, ruffled Zak's hair, and kissed Jason's sleeping forehead on his way out the door.

"Good morning, sir," his driver said from the front seat. "How are you today?"

"Not feeling any particular way this morning," Ringo replied, which wasn't quite true. "Could you take me to Apple?"

"Yes of course, sir." Ringo hated being called sir. It made him feel like the people talking to him were placing themselves on a lower level than him, when really they were on the same level. He so badly wanted to have everyone treat him normally, like they had before he was in the Beatles, but he could tell that wasn't going to happen.

When he arrived at Apple Corps., he darted through the crowd with a few hasty hello's and handshakes before sliding in through the door with a sigh of relief. Nothing crazy had happened, which he was thankful for. Looking up he saw Sam standing at the front desk, on the phone with someone. From what he could hear, it sounded like she was passing through a call from one of the hopeful musicians to another desk better equipped to deal with that sort of thing. She wasn't allowed to stop that sort of call, no matter how ridiculous the idea was.

He snuck up to the desk quietly, stealing a little bit of paper and scribbling down a message: _When's your lunch break? _He scooted the note in front of her eyes.

She looked up and a bright smile made her eyes shine. With her free hand, she grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a reply: _Noon to twelve-thirty, but I don't usually take it. I just eat on the go._

He frowned. She worked so hard, probably too hard. The other staff could and probably should take the phone sometimes. _You're taking it today. Unused studio, you, me, noon. Okay?_

She looked like she wanted to laugh at his last comment, but refrained from doing so. _Deal._

He grinned, sneaking a look around and pressing a kiss to her cheek when no one was looking. She flushed a bright red, which made Ringo chuckle.

He could hardly focus during the studio session, but he wasn't the only one with the problem. Paul spent a good portion of the session staring out the window intensely.

After about a half an hour, John had had enough of the inattention. "Lads, daydreaming is fine and good on your own time. But on the time of the band is a very fucking different matter. Ringo and Paul, both of you have been sitting with your mouths open for the better part of the time we've been in here. You're liable to catch flies if you carry on like that. What's up with you two?"

"Nothing," they answered together far too quickly. John's eyebrows shot skyward.

"Then let's focus, yeah?"

"I broke it off with Jane," Paul blurted.

"Ah, sorry about that, mate," George sympathized. John nodded in agreement. "That's pretty rough."

"I'm making through, thanks Geo," Paul said, ruffling the back of his hair with a huff of breath.

"That's half of the mystery solved, then," John said. "Now, what's bothering our drummer?"

"It's Sam," he finally confessed. "I can't keep my mind off her. Every time I try, I can't."

"Figured it was something like that," George chimed in. "All I can really say is it's sorta something you've got to figure out on your own, no outside help."

"I know it is, but Jesus Christ," Ringo nearly shouted in desperation. "I can't wrap my head around what the bloody hell I'm supposed to do."

John added his two cents at that point. "I know you're both having a rough go of it, but leave it at the door of the studio, will you? I'd be fine with listening any other time than this."

Ringo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease out some of the tension that had been building there. "Yeah, you're right. Let's give it another go, shall we?" He ushered his thoughts of Sam off to one side of his mind and left them there to be resurfaced at another time.

They bounced ideas around, well, it was mostly John and Paul, and soon it was time for lunch. Suddenly, Ringo could think of nothing but getting to Sam. He wanted to make sure both of them were on time so not a single moment would be wasted.

"I'm gonna head off for lunch, I'll be back in about a half hour," he called over his shoulder, walking out the door.

"We were gonna call in for some takeaway. You sure you don't want any?" Paul asked.

"No thanks, see you blokes in a bit," he replied.

He could finally see Sam. It had been near-agony, waiting for an opportunity. Now they had a half hour to themselves, which wasn't nearly long enough in Ringo's opinion. But then again, he supposed it would never be long enough. He suspected eternity wouldn't even be a long enough amount of time to be with such an entrancing person.

He was in such a hurry, he failed to notice he left his coat in the studio.

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"Joe, I'm going to take my lunch break, okay?" Sam called to her boss. "I'll be back in a half hour or so."

"Go ahead, Sammy," he nodded. "I don't think I can remember the last time you took a proper lunch break."

"Thank you!" she said, gathering her lunch bag in her arms and making for the break room. Switching direction at the last second, she entered the old, unused studio. She opened the blinds to let some light in and set her bag down on the table, waiting for Rich.

Roughly a minute later he slid in the door, a beaming smile lifting his mouth up at the corners so far that his eyes crinkled.

"Hi," she breathed, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

"Hi yourself," he chuckled, stepping close to her and placing his hands around her waist to press against her lower back. She felt her cheeks heat up, nearly glow-in-the-dark bright with a blush.

"I missed you," he murmured, capturing her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. "A lot. Hardly stopped thinking about you all day."

Sam responded to the kiss, pressing her body as close to Rich's as was physically possible. "I'm one up on you then, 'cause I _haven't _stopped thinking about you all day."

He buried his face in her neck, the feeling of his warm skin on hers was an intoxicating one. "Since when is this a contest?" His voice was a low, throaty purr. Sam shivered, goosebumps popping up on her skin.

"It's not, but if it were I would win," she giggled, tracing her fingers across his cheeks lightly, memorizing every line and contour that made up his face.

"Would you?" In an instant, Sam found herself being scooped up into Rich's arms, her stomach turning a surprised cartwheel. "Are you sure?" He gave her a playful wink as he spun her around the room once.

She let out a cry of shock, her arms around his neck tightly. "Stoppit! You cheeky git!" she joked.

"Admit it, I would win!" he commanded, peppering her neck and cheeks with kisses.

"Can I call it a draw?" she gasped through her laughter.

"I suppose," he conceded, setting her down and drawing her into a hug.

They were both so utterly lovestruck they didn't stop once to think of the repercussions that were bound to happen in their future.

**A/N: Not too bad of a cliffhanger, I hope? **

**Review? :)**


	9. Chapter 8: To Go or Not to Go?

**A/N: Sorry that this is a short chapter, but it was a filler for what's to come. I'm also really sorry for how long it took to post. I got the first half written and then a massive case of writer's block happened. :/ **

"Something's up with Ringo," said Paul to George one morning a few weeks later. "He's been focused just fine in the studio or with the managers, but for the rest of the time he's distracted and distant."

George nodded, he'd been noticing it too. "I agree, but I cant tell for the life of me what's going on. Maybe he's having problems with Maureen?"

"Maybe, but remember how he went to get lunch a couple weeks ago?" the bassist asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"He forgot his coat and it's bloody cold out right now." His words were slow, as though he were still thinking about how to best phrase this train of thought. "So he didn't leave the building, I don't think."  
George cottoned on immediately to what his friend was trying to say. "You think he's fooling around with that Sam girl?"

One shoulder went up and down in careful question. "It's looking more likely every day."

"Well, it's probably best for him to get it outta his system," George said. "To be honest, I can't see a relationship between those two lasting very long." The two just seemed to be on different wavelengths. Sam was a big city girl with high hopes and a love of organized chaos, as far as he could see. And, despite all his fame, Ringo was still a small town man with a great love of the traditional. The young receptionist seemed to be anything _but_ that.

"I dunno Geo, they seemed pretty smitten with each other at the Christmas party," Paul remarked doubtfully. "I reckon this might turn out to be more than a little fling."

"Smitten doesn't mean they're made for each other or anything," he said. "I know, I'm being a cynic. But for Ringo's sake, I hope my cynicism turns out to be right." Love affairs very rarely only affected the people directly involved. Often, they could blow up enough to involve even the most distant of friends or relations.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see, then," Paul said, scratching his nose absentmindedly.

Waiting. Also known as one of the most painful activities ever invented.

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"India? But Rich, even if people aren't already suspecting we're involved, they will if I up and go to India with you!" Sam exclaimed, nearly dropping the coffee she'd just bought from Mary's Cafe. Ringo held his own tea-filled cup steady.

"It won't just be you and me, all of the Beatles are going, as well as their wives... Which means of course that Mo'll be going," he said, fidgeting uncomfortably. Sam delicately traced her fingertips over the back of his hand.

"All the more reason for me not to go," she said firmly, yet softly. "I love being with you, believe me, I do, but I don't want to cause any problems."

"Then bring Liz with you!" He looked proud of his sudden idea. "Lemme see if I can think of who's going... Mal and his wife, Neil and his wife, George and Patti, John and Cyn, Paul, and Maureen and myself. If you and Liz come, it won't look odd."

Sam chewed her lip uncertainly. "I don't think either of us will be able to get off work..." she trailed off.

"As far as your job, we can bring you along and it won't be a problem. As far as Liz and her job goes, I'm sure one of our managers could make a recommendation that she come along to help you with assisting us. I doubt her employer would say no."

"I just down't want to get you—or if I'm being honest, myself—in any sort of hot water," she said, twisting a curl around one of her fingers and letting it go with a bounce.

"You won't, I promise," he reassured her as they slid into her flat, kissing her cheek.

"I just don't know," she said fretfully. "I mean, I have always wanted to see India..." She slowly pressed both of her hands to his chest so her fingers splayed outward.

"And going with me makes it better?" he asked cheekily, pecking her on the lips and chuckling throatily.

She pretended to think. "Hm... Nah!" She smirked, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing both of his cheeks quickly. It soon turned into a long, passionate kiss in which Sam found herself backed up against the wall. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"Oh, get a room already!" The pair jumped apart at the sound of Liz's voice. Sam wildly combed a hand through her hair and Rich brushed at his shirt to smooth it down at least a little.

"Uh, hi Liz," said Sam awkwardly, feeling her face burn. "I thought you were going out today."

Her cheeky friend grinned. "Decided not to. Maybe I should've though, my mind's eye is burning."

"Sod off," she muttered, practically able to _hear_ Rich smiling.

"What do you say to a trip to India?" the drummer butted his head into the conversation before Sam could stop him.

Liz's mouth hung open. "You kidding? Oh my God, that would be gear!"

Rich chuckled. The feel of his warm hand on her back was making her continue to blush a light pink color. "It's done, then. We leave in two weeks."

Sam turned to him and gave him a faux glare. "You knew she would say yes, thereby giving me a reason to go, didn't you?" she accused.

He shrugged innocently, giving her the wide, blue eyed stare she couldn't stay mad at no matter how strong her resolve was supposed to be. "Guilty as charged, love," he raised an eyebrow, putting his hands out to the sides.

"Oh fine," she sighed, flipping her palms up in a gesture of surrender.

"Gotta run, I need to tell Mal there'll be two more people on the trip than originally planned," he said, his lips finding hers again quickly.

"In terms of payment—" Sam started, only to be cut off by Rich who was smirking impishly.

"Here, I'll let you pay your bill, shall I?" He kissed her heatedly, heedless to the fact that Liz had retreated to the corner to gag wholeheartedly. Sam responded with equal enthusiasm, feeling her stomach drop dizzily like she was riding a roller coaster. "There, all paid for," he murmured.

"And what about my end of it?" Liz asked, her hands still over her eyes. "Also, is it safe for the general public to look yet?"

"I think that just about covered both payments," Rich told her, laughing. "And yes, your eyes won't burn up and shrivel if you look now." She warily peeked over the tips of her fingers before lowering her hands to her sides.

"Bye," said Sam, leaning her head against his strong chest for a moment. "I love you." She bit her lip as soon as the words left her mouth like she was trying to catch them and bring them back. Those three words meant commitment. A lot of it. Maybe more than she was ready for at that moment. She shouldn't have said it. Was there a way—

"... I love you too," Rich whispered, kissing the top of her head delicately and easing his way out the door. Sam gently shut it behind him, fighting a sudden impulse to sigh girlishly. No doubt Liz would never, ever let her hear the end of _that._

"You two are cute," Liz remarked from the place she had retreated to in the sitting room. Sam added another shade of red to the fading color on her face. It was as though her cheeks were trying out color swatches to see which one they liked best. "I mean it! It's like that prince you said you were obsessed with when you were little finally came for you, except he forgot his armor. The way he looks at you... cor, what I'd give to have a man look at me like that." Her tone was wistful.

Sam poked her head around the door. "Plenty of guys have looked at you like they'd follow you to the ends of the Earth or farther," she said. Her friend shook her head in response.

"Yeah, but what did it amount to in the end?" she asked, a little bitterness coloring her tone a darker color. "Apparently, 'the ends of the Earth' extend to my bedroom and no further."

"You just haven't found the right one yet."

"I think I've just about run out of options over here."

"I don't think so."

Liz scrunched up her nose. "Are you talking about Paul again? 'Cause if you are, I think I may hit you."

She took a seat beside her friend and spread her arms wide. "Fire away, then. Because he was beyond taken with you at the party."

"He's been, as you put it, 'cooling his feet' for a couple weeks now," Liz retorted. "Who's to say he won't just decide I'm not worth the effort and find another, less baggage-laden girl?"

Liz scoffed at her. "What, can you see the future now? Another talent aside from attracting perfect men?"

Sam rolled her eyes, picking up a little sketchbook and eyeing it speculatively. "Christ, I wish I could. That would be right bloody useful. What I _can _see is this India trip opening up a lot of time for you to spend with him."

"That's true," her curls bobbed in time with her slow, pensive nodding. "What'll I pack, though? I've got no warm weather clothes!" She took the segue into stressing out about clothes as a good sign.

"I think they'll have some native clothes for us to wear. A big part of the trip is about their culture and meditation, after all. Taking into consideration the fact that we're going to a school for transcendental meditation," said Sam thoughtfully.

"Well, s'pose that'll be good," the black haired woman said. "Been putting on a bit of weight lately and I wasn't all that eager to show off me less-than-perfect body."

"Oh, if _you've _been putting it on, I'd hate to know what _I'm _doing!" Sam exclaimed, soon after ducking a pillow chucked in her direction. She was so grateful to have a friend like Liz. She could be a complete goofball most of the time, but she had a deeply sensitive side that loved to talk about things going on in her life.

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Ringo stood in the doorway of Mal's office. "Hey, Mal," he greeted the man who used to be one of their roadies when they still toured.

"Something I can do for you, Ringo?" he asked, looking up from his work and smiling pleasantly.

"Yeah, actually," he replied. "We've decided to bring along two additional people on the India trip, as Jane isn't going and we had an extra seat on the plane anyway."

"Who?" Mal almost looked like he knew what at least half of the answer was going to be.

"Samantha McMillan and her friend, Elizabeth Watson."

"Consider it done," the man nodded, a slight pensive frown creasing his forehead for a moment. Ringo cringed. Mal was a naturally introspective person, but he hated to think he was suspecting that something more had grown between the Apple employee and the drummer. _Gotta be more careful_, he thought, shaking his head and stepping into his car. His fingers closed over the piece of paper in his pocket. It was the drawing Sam had done for him and it had been there ever since she'd given it to him.

The drawing was one one side and on the other, a note read; _To Rich. Please, never change. ~Sam._ It made him smile every time he read it. Which was a lot.

Once he arrived home, he planted a kiss on Zak's busy head—his son was creating a wood block structure of some sort—and attempted to begin packing. He'd gotten about three shirts folded in a somewhat orderly fashion and in the suitcase when a slender pair of hands ghosted up and down his arms. He craned his neck around to see Mo smiling at him playfully.

"Hello, love," she nearly purred, burying her face in his shoulder. "I missed you today."

"Oh, did you now?" he turned and kissed her soundly. _What've I done now, or possibly, what do you need from me?_ he thought. Maybe he was being unusually cynical, but Mo was hardly ever this affectionate anymore.

"Of course," she giggled, nudging her nose against his. "I got most of my packing done today while you were at the studio." He just stopped himself from flinching. _Right, studio. Yeah._ She pressed herself into his jacket, stopping and giving the garment a searching sniff. "What's that smell, perfume?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh, er," he scrambled for the appropriate response. "Scared an employee by accident who was coming 'round a corner and she dropped her purse. The perfume bottle she had in there broke all over."

Internally, he sighed heavily. _I've got to stop lying, whether it be to Mo or myself. This can't go on._

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated, as always! :)**


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